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CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS 



CHICAGO: 

SCROLL PUBLISHING COMPANY 
1902 


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THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

m. 23 1902 

COPVRIGHT ENTRY 

rVVctM I ^ - 1^0 — 

CLASS tt/ XXo No. 

^ tf 2^ 

COPY 8. 

Copyright, 1902 

By MARTHA ELLEN HALE. 


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CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS 


CHAPTER 1. 

“All day, all night, I hear the jar 
Of the loom of life, and near and far 
It thrills with its deep and mumed sound 
As the tireless wheels ^o round and round.’^ 

Glints of golden sunshine, trill of birds songs, sigh 
of South wind, and the breath of early Spring blos- 
soms without. Within was the gray mantle of death, 
gradually but surely enveloping one whose voice al- 
ready sounded faint and far away. Silent in my 
agony, I listened to the loving admonition of a dying 
mother. 

“My child,” she said, “come nearer and listen to 
me. I know you are very young for such a great 
responsibility as the care of your little sister, but dar- 
ling, you are not childish, as your years indicate. 
Henceforth you must be mother, sister, friend and all 
to Ulrica. In a short time you two will be all alone 
in the world, but for your father. He will never un- 
derstand the needs of a tender little flower like your 
sister. Olive, dear, try and dry your tears,” she 
went on in broken accents, “and do not forget the 
lessons you have learned at my knee. Always bow to 
the will of God. Kiss the rod that smites you; and 
lead Ulrica into the narrow way. To comfort you 


4 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


darling, I can truthfully say that I thank God for the 
gift of such a dutiful child as you have ever been.” 

“But mother,” I sobbed, “you mst not leave us. 
You will live many many years. What will we do 
without you?” 

“Darling, gladly would I stay with you if it was 
so ordained,” came the answer in a strangely altered 
voice, “but it cannot be.” 

There was silence for a brief space and I hid my 
face in the coverlet and stiffled bitter sobs. When I 
again looked at her face which had grown so white, 
I knew that the end was near. I ran and brought my 
sister from the adjoining room and called frantically 
to my father who was pacing the garden paths out- 
side. My mother turned her dying eyes upon the 
child I held in my arms with a last loving look. 

So it was that the death angel, hovering near all 
that bright, cloudless spring morning, took our dear- 
est earthly treasure from us to grace a mansion 
above, and we were left to fight Life’s battles alone. 
Oh, no, not alone! together my little sister and I 
would be while life lasted. I vowed to myself there 
by my dead mother’s side, that I would ever walk 
before, smoothing out the pathway of Life, lest my 
darling’s tender feet be pierced by sharp thorns or 
bruised by jagged stones. In my youthful ignorance 
I did not know that each has a separate path, which 
no other can travel for him. 

Of my father I will speak but little, for I knew then 
as I do now, that he was careless beyond words to 
tell of his children’s happiness. 

When all that was earthy of our dear mother was 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


5 


laid to rest, our small cottage was sold, with all its 
contents. Scarcely a fortnight elapsed when we left 
it forever. Oh, the agony of that breaking up of our 
home! That home which was hallowed by the mem- 
ory of a loving lost presence and was to be ruthlessly 
invaded by strangers. As the little front gate closed 
behind us, I turned to take a last look at that home 
which was home no longer, where had been passed all 
the short, bright years of my life. Oh, care-free, 
happy childhood! Even yet the small village of 
Brookville, Pa., seems the dearest spot on earth to 
me. Though I have wandered far from its borders, 
still do I think of it as home. True, we were not to 
leave the village at once, yet I never went to view the 
old familiar surroundings, for the sight I could not 
bear. 

There was but one thing left to console me, and 
that was the companionship of my sister. I clasped 
her little hand closely in mine as we started for our 
new home, never doubting that our father had made 
arrangements for us to be togehter. When he in- 
formed us that we were to be separated I looked at 
him in a dazed sort of a way, and could scarcely 
speak for the indignation that choked my utterance. 

‘‘Why father,” I at length faltered, “you cannot 
intend to part us. I promised mother that I would 
always care for Ulrica. She must go where I go,” I 
concluded resolutely. 

“Well, well, Olive, I have made other arrange- 
ments,” he answered. “Certainly you can be together 
occasionally, but I have been unable to find a home 
for you and Ulrica in the same family.” 


6 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


My tears flowed afresh on hearing his words. 

“Olive/’ he said impatiently, “you are a very trying 
child; at another time I would chastise you severely." 

But I did not heed his words. The thought of los- 
ing the companionship of my little sister seemed more 
than I could bear. Oh, yes, I groveled in the dust of 
the highway along which we were passing and pleaded 
with him not to part us. I told him my promise to 
my dying mother was sacred, it must not be broken. 
Thro’ my mist of tears, I saw no relenting in his face, 
nothing but impatience was where there should have 
been loving sympathy for my anguish. 

“Father,” I cried, “we have only one another now, 
and you are going away, leave us together. I will 
work for Ulrica. I will do anything to keep her with 
me.” 

“Olive, get up at once and obey me,” broke in his 
voice, cold and cutting. “I have made my arrange- 
ments ; you and your sister must abide by them.” 

“It will break her heart to leave me,’’ I cried des- 
perately. 

“No such thing will happen,” he answered care- 
lessly. “Give her a new toy and in fifteen minutes she 
will be as happy as though you had never existed.” 

My mother was right, I thought bitterly. He 
knows nothing of the child’s tender loving nature. 
My heart was hardened by his cruelty and all affec- 
tion for him died a natural death in that hour. 

My sister was five, and I twelve years of age when 
we were thus ruthlessly thrown on the world. And 
how my darling clung to me when the moment of 
parting arrived. Even now I seem to feel the soft 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


7 


dimpled arms clasped about my neck and the tears 
falling on my cheek as the childish faltering voice 
begged to stay with me always. Oh, that childhood 
could be spared all such agonizing trials. 

But I will not linger on the recital of our woes, 
or of how my poor little sister shrank from the hard- 
visaged woman with whom I was compelled to leave 
her. Mrs. Durkin was a widow and owned the small 
boarding house which she kept in the village. She 
made many promises to my father in regard to what 
she would do for the child. No doubt he believed he 
was doing an advantageous thing for her when he 
gave her into the keeping of the woman who was des- 
tined to exert such a baneful influence over her future. 

For me had been found an asylum in the home 
of a family where there were three small children 
who we're endeavoring to reach the proper age that 
1 might act in the capacity of a governess as well 
as nursery maid, thereby paying for my bed and 
board. Meanwhile I attended the village school and 
my one desire then was to gain knowledge sufficient 
to teach. I fondly hoped that some day I could sup- 
port my sister and myself in comfort. I pictured a 
little vine wreathed cottage with my darling waiting 
each evening for my homecoming. 

“Oh vain visions of youth! O, poverty, how many 
cjuivering hearts are crushed beneath thy grinding 
heel! How many heavy-eyed sorrows are dragged in 
thy Wake ! 

Each Sabbath day I was permitted to spend with 
my sister I would see the little face watching for me 
at the window as I drew near, when it would disap- 


8 


CLIMBING TIIL IIKIGMTS. 


pear for a moment, only to reappear at the door and 
she would come swiftly to meet me with smile chas- 
ing away her childish sorrow with wind-blown curls 
and dancing eyes. I would catch her to my heart, 
raining kisses on the upturned face of my one treas- 
ure. -Small wonder that I loved her so, even as a 
mother loves her child. 

Almost two years passed in this way. My father 
had been absent from the village during that time, 
but had returned again and taken up his residence 
permanently in order to be near us. I did not know 
what his occupation had been during that time of ab- 
sence, nor what it was then. 

The last day of many which I spent with my sist(?r 
was one remembered by me. It was one of those 
dark winter days when the leaden sky overhangs the 
snowbound earth like a pall. A day such as casts 
a gloom over the brightest spirit. But nothing short 
of death could have kept me from her on those days. 
So when the hour came for my departure this day, I 
tore myself away from her and was some distance 
from the house when I heard her calling my name 
pitifully as she ran after me through the snow drifts. 

“Oh, Olive, she says you can’t come any more, you 
always make me cry. Take me with you, sister. I 
will be so good. I can work,” and she reached out 
her little hands to prove her capacity of labor. 

“Oh, do take me with you,” and clinging to my 
skirts she sobbed most pitifully as she resumed. 
“She will beat me when you are gone. She does it 
lots of times. She told me never to tell you, but I 
can’t help it now.” 


CLIMHING THE HEIGHTS. 


y 


Oh, heaven, what was I to do? I looked at the 
little one as she stood there with chubby legs half 
bared to the bitter cold, her imploring, frightened 
little face raised to mine. A horrible pain pierced 
my heart. Was this the way I was fulfilling my prom- 
ise to my dead mother. What if she at that very mo- 
ment was beholding the anguish in the helpless child’s 
face as she implored me to rescue her from her un- 
happy surroundings. Taking her hand in mine, [ 
started to retrace my steps striving to allay her fears 
with soothing words. 

“Oh, Olive, I can’t go back there!” she cried, hid- 
ing her face and still clinging to my skirts as Mrs. 
Durkin made her appearance at the door, a heavy 
whip in her hand. 

“Olive, I’d rather stay out here and freeze to 
death,” she sobbed, “than go back there. Only take 
me with you.” 

I took her in my arms and waded back through the 
snow and demanded her wraps that I might take her 
away and find another home for her. 

“Ha, ha!” laughed Mrs. Durkin. “Why that puny 
little creature belongs to me as tight as the law can 
bind her. You may come in and see the papers if 
you like.” 

I was speechless with amazement. Had my father 
done this thing, knowing almost nothing of the wom- 
an? I asked myself despairingly. 

“You little mischief,^’ she cried vindictively, look- 
ing at my sister. “Let go her skirts I say, and get 
in this house.” 

At this the little one but clung closer to me, fright- 


10 


climbing thk heights. 


ened and trembling. I knew I was powerless to pro- 
tect her at that time and I fell on my knees to that 
hardened creature. With streaming eyes I begged 
her to be kind to my little darling for the love of 
Heaven; for the sake of her own little child who was 
dead. I begged her to remember that we had no 
mother. I spared no words in striving to soften her 
heart. 

Perhaps it was my stricken face, perhaps it was the 
memory of her dead child which moved her, for she 
permitted me to take the heavy whip from her hand 
and promised not to use it on the trembling child. I 
took my sister into the house and repressing my tears 
with an ef¥ort, strove to comfort her. I remained an- 
other hour and succeeded in calling a wan little smile 
to her face by picturing some future joy for us. Again 
I made myself ready to leave her. Oh, the tears that 
would come unbidden to the little eyes and the low 
sobbing which she strove so hard to suppress, tore 
at my heart as the very agony of death. 

“Olive,” she said, “I know she will beat me when 
you are gone, but I just can’t help crying. It’s all 
so lonely.” 

* “Be brave darling,” I whispered, “and try to be 
happy.” 

“It’s no use to try, I can’t away from you,” she 
declared dismally. 

“I will be here on the Sabbath, dear,” I said, “that 
will not be long,” and kissing her small tear-wet face, 
I went away through the fast gathering darkness, not 
daring to look backward once lest she see my own 
grief-stricken face. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


11 


The following day I went straight to my father and 
implored him to take my sister from Mrs. Durkin. 
Listening silently to my pleadings for a timp, he in- 
terrupted me impatiently with, “ Well, well, Olive, you 
come to me with tears, always tears. I shall be ex- 
tremely thankful when you arrive at the age where 
you recognize the fallacy of shedding tears without 
the slightest provocation. I assure you it is a most 
wearisome, disagreeable habit. This is nothing but 
sheer nonsense about Ulrica being ill-treated by Mrs. 
Durkin. Every child must be chastised occasionally. 
I made all necessary inquiries as to her character and 
believe her to be a woman of exceptional merit. 1 
think your sister is very fortunately situated. I have 
provided for the material wants of both you and her 
and occasioned myself no little trouble in doing so. 
And, Olive,” he added sharply, “once for all I warn 
you to have done with your foolish complaints for I 
will listen to no more of them.” 

He turned to his papers once more and I was left 
standing in the center of the room* too miserable and 
angry to care what I did or said. 

“Father,” I at length cried out, “you are not worthy 
to be blessed with a little child like Ulrica. I will take 
her away. I will be her protector. I hope with all 
my heart that I may never, never see you again.” 

As I rushed from the room, I heard him say, “Oh, 
that terrible temper of hers; it will yet be her ruin.’’ 

Perhaps I was too bitter in my anger toward my 
father, but the memory of it has troubled me but little 
even though I have had my wish, for I have never 


12 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


looked upon him since that day or heard any tidings 
from him. 

The. following days were heavy ones for me and 
when the Sabbath came again I hastened away that 
I might be with my dear one as soon as possible. 
But as I drew near no little feet came tripping to 
meet me. No glad voice fell on my ear. What could 
it portend. My heart almost stood still with the fear 
of some impending calamity. A stranger with kindly 
face greeted me at the door. I inquired for Mrs. 
Durkin and my sister in a stifling voice. 

“Oh, you be the little one’s sister? Why they’ve 
left town,” was the startling answer. With pitying 
eyes turned upon me, she cried : “Come in dearie, and 
ril tell you all about it.” 

I stepped across the threshhold and sank despair- 
ingly into a chair. 

“I hate to tell you,” she began hesitatingly, “but 
then it’s my duty and I must. .The night afore they 
left, last Thursday night it was, you see I moved in 
that day, Mrs. Durkin was makin’ ready to go and 
told the little one that she would never see you again, 
that she was going to take her where you couldn’t 
find her. At that the little one began to cry and not 
bein’ able to let up when she was told to, that critter 
took dowm a whip and begun to beat her with it. T 
couldn’t hold myself at that, so I just flung the door 
open an’ jerked the whip out of her hand and give 
her a stripe right across the face. An she’ll carry the 
mark for many a day too, just as the little one will 
where she all but cut the hide. Oh, the great blue 
marks on them little bare legs. I just can’t bear to 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


13 


think on it.” And the good woman broke completely 
down, but she strove for my sake to hide her tears 
in the folds of her kitchen apron. 

As for my own,, they were dried up by flaming 
anger. I dared not dwell on the picture which that 
kind soul had so deftly painted to the mind’s eye. 

“You seem a young thing yourself, to be knockin’ 
about' in the world,” she continued presently, laying 
a gentle hand on my bowed head. I caught that hand 
and kissed it again and again, for had it not protected 
my darling? Oh, may Heaven bless all such tender 
kindly souls! They shine out from their rough ex- 
terior like a ray of sunshine breaking through the 
darkest cloud. 

“Where is your father, child?” she inquired. 

“Curse my father!” I cried bitterly. “Oh, my dear, 
dear woman, tell me where they have gone,” I cried, 
almost frantic with impatience, as I started to- 
ward the door. “I shall steal my sister. We will be 
tramps, anything, if we are together.” 

“Yes, yes, dearie,” she said. “I followed her to 
the depot, unbeknown to her, and she called for a 
ticket to New York City. I couldn’t find you, not 
knowin’ where you stayed, so I made it my affair to 
see where she took the little one.” 

I told her that Heaven would reward her for the 
interest she had taken in my little sister. I went 
back over the road I had traversed so hopefully less 
than an hour gone. Black despair filled my heart, but 
well I knew that that was not the time to falter, but 
the time to act. 

I waited for the coming of darkness, meanwhile 


14 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


laying my plans. I would let no one know where I 
went. I would work my way to New York City. I 
would walk. I would steal rides on freight cars. Oh, 
^ yes, I would find my darling soon. 

“Sister is coming to you, sweet,” I said over and 
over to myself. I counted the contents of my purse 
which all told amounted to two dollars and thirty-five 
cents. But the smallness of the sum did not daunt 
me. 

Oh, could I but have looked into the future with 
its many, many dreary days which were to intervene 
between the present time and the day on which I was 
to behold her sweet face again, I could have died of 
despair. How wisely it is ordained that we are de- 
nied this foresight. Surely it is the angel of mercy 
which holds the veil between the future and our long- 
ing eyes. 


CHAPTER 11. 


We see a sorrow rising in our way, 

And try to flee from the approaching ill ; 

We seek some small escape; we weep and pray; 
But when the blow falls then our hearts are 
still ; 

Not that the pain is of its sharpness shorn, 

But that it can be borne. 

Alas ; traveling without money was not so easily 
accomplished as I in my inexperience supposed. Use- 
less to relate the difficulties which beset my pathway 
ere I reached my longed for destination. In the dark- 
ness of that night I slipped away and walked to the 
next station, caring not for the snow and cold. I rode 
on a railway train as far as my m.oney would pay my 
way. 

As T said, it is quite useless to tell of how I implored 
flinty hearted conductors to permit me to proceed on 
my way, telling them my story, of how I was deposited 
on the platform of the next station and told that they 
were used to such tales as mine; of how I would go 
hungry wandering in search of work that I might earn 
money and start on my way again. Suffice it to say, 
it was Springtime ere I arrived in New York City. And 
oh, that great, great city; teeming with its surging 
mass of peoples each one bent upon his or her own 
affair, confusing all rriy ideas, making chaos of all my 
])lans. Endless streets of which I knew not the name 
of a single one. Row after row of brick walls confront- 


16 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


ing- me on every side. How could I ever hope to find 
my little sister in that great metropolis ? 

I wandered aimlessly about with tired, dragging 
footsteps until the slanting shadows on the pavements 
warned me that I must seek an asylum for the night. 
It wounded my pride sorely to ask for charity, but 
when I reflected that it was for her dear sake it ceased 
to be painful, so great was my love for her. I bore 
patiently the insults that were heaped upon me by the 
hard visaged women when I asked them to shelter me 
for the night. After all what right had I to expect 
them to give me their sympathy. But at last, long after 
darkness had closed down, I found my way to a small 
boarding house and they were in need of help in the 
kitchen. That dirty, ill-smelling kitchen ; the boister- 
ous slang of the employees seemed like a stray corner 
of heaven to my weary sight and hearing. 

Two weary years I remained there and gained the 
sobriquet of Miss Silence, for I took no interest in 
passing events. I doubt even if I once smiled during 
those years. All my thoughts were centered in my 
little lost sister. All my sunshine lay in starry eyes ; 
all my joy in her smiles and I saw them not. Oh, but 
those were bitter, bitter years for me : and I oftimes 
cried out in my loneliness that God had forsaken me. 

The greater part of my earnings I gave to a police- 
man, who promised to search for Mrs.-Durkin, and at 
length he obtained her address. I rushed to the house 
like a whirlwind and rang the bell. 

“Yes,” said the woman who answered my inquiries 
for Mrs. Durkin, “she lives on the next floor — turn to 
the left— No. 14.” 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


17 


I ran up the steps and knocked on the door. My 
heart was wildly fluttering; soon, soon I would clasp 
my darling in my arms once more. Mrs. Durkin opened 
the door and recognized me at once. 

‘T have found you at last,” I cried breathlessly. “I 
want Ulrica.” 

She gazed blankly at me a moment and then cried, 
“Do you mean to say that you don’t know where 
she is ?” 

“She is here,” I declared promptly, “and you shall 
keep us apart no longer.” 

Pushing past her I entered the room and called my 
sister’s name in my eagerness, but there was no answer. 

“Olive Holbrook, I haven’t seen your sister for over 
six months. The ungrateful little wretch ran away. I 
felt sure that you had followed us and taken her. I 
have neither time nor money to search for her, but if 
I ever do find her she shall rue the day she left me,” 
declared Mrs. Durkin vindictively. 

I was convinced by her tones that she was speaking 
the truth. So I turned at once and left her, not know- 
ing to what act or speech my anger toward her might 
lead me. Intermingled with despair in my heart was a 
great thankfulness, for my little one had at least 
escaped the abuse of that creature. I consoled my- 
self by believing that she could scarcely fall into worse 
hands. 

Once more I began my weary search. Five more 
years with their bloom and decay passed by with leaden 
footsteps. What cared I for song bird or odorous 
breath of summer blossoms if my lost darling did not 
share them with me? During these last years I ob- 


18 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


tained employment in a dressmaking establishment and 
at length began to realize that chance alone must give 
me back my little sister vv^ho, if living, was then four- 
teen years of age. How I longed for gold to give to 
the hounds of the law. I believed she could be found, 
but the key that would unlock the door of her hiding 
place must be a golden. one, I told myself in bitterness 
of spirit. How our dark river of separation might 
have been bridged over by the use of the glittering 
dross; a bridge, indeed, where we might meet and 
stand heart to heart once more. 

More than seven years had passed since I bad 
walked away through the snow and left her on that 
memorable day. Again the Springtime was hovering 
over the earth with many sweet sights and sounds, and 
one Sabbath day I was returning to my place of abode 
from the house of worship which I attended, when a 
carriage dashed up and came to a standstill by the 
pavement. The driver sprang down and assisted a 
lady to alight. The other occupants of the carriage 
were two children and a nurse maid. The badge of 
servitude I recognized in the white cap and apron. I 
stood quite still and gazed into the face beneath that 
white cap. Dear Heaven, dear Heaven, could such 
happiness be for me ? Could it be my little one ? 

A light of joy — just such joy as I had pictured hun- 
dreds of times in the past weary years — rushed into 
that face. Still we stood and gazed at each other, 
afraid to grasp at our happiness lest it be frightened 
away. But at length I breathed her name . 

“Olive, Olive, it is I !” she cried, springing to the 
pavement, and at last I held my darling close to my 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


19 


heart once more. Oh, joy unspeakable ! I forgot time, 
place and all things save her presence and kissed again 
and again her sweet face. 

“Mary,” broke in a cold, haughty voice, “I am sur- 
prised at this scene. You and this person are attract- 
ing attention. If you wish to hold your present posi- 
tion, you will command yourself at once.” 

“Oh, Mrs. Homer, this is my sister from whom I 
have been parted so long,” she said, turning her bright 
face, which was like a bedewed rose to the freezing 
glance bent upon her. But no glance however cold 
could chill the happiness in our united hearts. 

“She is coming with me,” I said, decisively. 

“Not unless she goes to stay,” was the icy answer. 

“Very well,” I said, untying the apron strings and 
lifting the cap from the midnight curls which fell in 
rich profusion over the white forehead. 

Never in my wildest imaginings had I pictured my 
sister as beautiful as I then found her to be, though but 
a little unformed girl as yet : I thought her the loveliest 
creature I had seen for many a day. Her starry eyes, 
so black and velvety soft, looked out from a face in 
which there was no trace of color, save in the sweet 
lips, which rivaled the tenderest rose bud in richness 
of hue and contour. The black gown she wore revealed 
more plainly the dazzling clearness of complexion, 
while her whole make-up was one of indescribable 
grace and daintiness. 

She turned to bid the children farewell. The eldest 
looked at her disdainfully and said not a word. The 
other held out both hands and began to cry. Her 
mother stepped between them, saying coldly: 


20 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


“I do not permit servants to caress my children. 
You should be aware of that Mary.” 

I almost pitied the woman. Surely an unhappy, 
heart lay beneath that frozen exterior. I fully under- 
stood that she had never given my sister any sympathy 
in her loneliness and so gave her none in her joy. We 
turned and left them. In a vague sort of a way I re- 
member that the passersby looked wonderingly at our 
happy faces — at my sister’s wind-blown curls bared to 
the blessed sunshine. I did not care should the whole 
world observe us then. I had my darling’s hand in- 
mine once more. I wished that every one might taste 
of such rapture as mine. I took her straight to my 
place of abode, reaching my room unobserved. 

She was yet a little thing and I took her upon my 
knee and held her close. 

“Tell me everything that has befallen you since we 
parted, darling,” I said. “Keep nothing a secret in 
order to spare my feelings. Why did Mrs. Horner 
call you Mary?” • * 

“I feared to give my right name lest Mrs. Durkin 
find me,” she answered sadly. 

I groaned inwardly as I thought of the pitiful cir- 
cumstances which compelled a child of such a tender 
age to assume a false name. 

“Tell me everything,” I said again as she still hesi- 
tated. 

“But Olive,” she expostulated, “why recall the past 
which has been so lonely ? Rather let us look into, the 
bright future which lies before us.” 

But when I still insisted upon the recital of how 
those years had been passed by her, she reluctantly 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


21 


complied. As I listened to the tale of cruelties per- 
l^etrated upon that defenseless child I realized how ut- 
terly I had failed to keep my promise to my dead 
mother. Oh, that I could have kept my darling’s 
childhood free from such trials. When in the very 
bitterness of spirit I cried out, “T hope some great mis- 
fortune will overtake the inhuman monster who so ill 
used you,” my sister gently chided me, saying: 

“No, Olive, rather does she need our pity for her 
own unhappiness ; think how much she misses that 
which is beautiful in life.” 

And never in all the after years did she say one 
hard word of Mrs. Durkin, though she brought a 
greater sorrow than any which her childhood ever 
knew. 

“The last day I was with her,” she went on, “I 
angered her by breaking a dish, thereby ruining a set 
she highly prized, and she dragged me a short dis- 
tance from the house and beat me until the blood 
came. When she had done she left me, saying, ‘When 
you have finished your whining come to the house. I 
have more work for you.’ 

'“I threw myself on the ground and called your name, 
Olive, for it was a comfort to me ; then some one 
touched my hair and smoothing it back from my 
swollen face, said gently, ‘Poor little girl.’ I looked 
up and saw a boy much younger than myself standing 
beside me looking so pityjngly that I knew him for a 
friend. When he questioned me I told him everything. 

“ ‘Why don’t you run away ?’ he asked me as he 
dried my tears from my face with his handkerchief. 
‘I know a lady who wants a nice little girl to play 


22 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


with her baby. You can go there,’ he said, reassur- 
ingly. 

‘But how can I get away ?’ I asked him, my heart 
sinking suddenly from the upward flight it had taken. 

“ ‘I will take you as far as the railway station and 
tell you how to find the place,’ he answered readily. Tt 
is not over ten miles from here. Come out at 9 o’clock 
to-night and I will be right here waiting.’ 

“I promised that I would come, and then hurried 
back to the house, joyfully anticipating the coming of 
the night. My heart was bounding with the thought 
of having the care of a real baby whom I could kiss 
and love.” 

“What did Mrs. Durkin do for a living?” I inquired. 

“I do not know,” she answered, “but a great many 
people would drive out to her house every evening and 
remain until nearly morning. She always sent me to 
bed very early and I never saw any of them, but they 
often woke me with their loud talking and swearing. 
It was horrible, but I always longed for the night that 
I might rest and be alone,” and she shuddered at the 
remembrance of that past time. 

In turn I shuddered as I realized from her meager 
description what sort of a woman it was from whom 
she had escaped. What could the place have been but 
one of those gambling dens which exist in the suburbs 
of all great cities? Clasping my dear one close, I 
mentally thanked Heaven for her deliverance,' as she 
told me how that young friend of her’s came as he had 
promised and rescued ligr from that den of vice ; how 
he had walked with her to the nearest station and 
placd her on a seat by an old gentleman, putting in her 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


23 


hand a slip of paper on which was the address of Mrs. 
Horner, to whom she was to go, also a letter to that 
lady begging her to keep the little girl whom he sent. 

“But dear, how did you find the home of Mrs. Hor- 
ner; you a little child all alone in this great city?” I 
asked her. 

“I went out into the streets inquiring of those whom 
I met, showing them the address. I finally reached the 
place some time in the afternoon. But it was such a 
tall, fine Iniilding with the gardens so beautifully kept 
and everything on such a grand scale, 1 was afraid to 
go in lest they turn me away. I wandered around and 
finally gained the courage to go to the back door. The 
cook allowed me to enter and I told her I had come 
to take care of the baby. 

“I know she pitied me from the way she looked as 
she patted me on the head kindly and said, T don’t be- 
lieve Mrs. Horner will keep you.’ She gave me some- 
thing to eat, but I was too miserable to swallow a mor- 
sel until 1 knew if 1 could stay or not. She then sent 
word to Mrs. Horner and I was told to follow the 
house maid to the drawing room. The reception that 
I received there froze the tears in my eyes before they 
could^fall. Mrs. Horner looked me over as she might 
a dirty dog and I scarcely dared to raise my eyes from 
the floor. Oh, Olive, why do you wish me to recall 
that time,” she exclaimed with a burst of tears. “I was 
so lonely and heartbroken, and as I look back I see a 
shrinking little creature standing like a criminal who is 
being judged for some heinous crime. Mrs. Horner 
was a mother, and yet she had no compassion upon the 
homeless little wretch who was starving for one kind 


24 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


word. With that witherino^ glance still bent upon me 
she said disdainfully: 

“ T cannot imagine wlio has sent this creature to 
me.’ 

“I gave her the note that I still held tightly in my 
hand. After perusing it she said in a somewhat molli- 
fied tone, ‘Ah, it is from that dear boy Horace. He is 
always befriending some one.’ Looking at me again 
she said coldly, ‘You may remain as**! am greatly in 
need of some one to attend to my youngest daughter, 
who is fourteen months of age. And remember,’ she 
added sharply, ‘if you neglect her at any time you shall 
be cast adrift in the streets.’ 

“She called the house maid, who had lingered near 
the door, and ordered her to make me presentable in 
some of Isabel’s cast-oif clothing. Isabel was near my 
own age.” 

“Did Mrs. Horner never auestion you in regard to 
your former home,” I asked. 

“Never a word, and she scolded me but once during 
all the time I was beneath her roof,” she answered. 
“That was for kissing baby Grace, whom I had grown 
to love so dearly. And now, dear Olive, all the dark 
days are over,” she cried. “We shall be so happy ! You 
must tell me of your misfortunes now. I fear I have 
caused you much grief, dear,” she added, regretfully. 

I related all the story of my long and fruitless search, 
but my sorrow was all of the past — I then believed. Oh, 
foolish, inexperienced youth ! Sorrow must needs at- 
tend us to the grave, else where is the joy of life, for 
truly life unattended by sorrow is also devoid of joy, 
which comes only from contrast. 


CHAPTER III. 


“Yet in herself she dwelleth not 

Although no home were half so fair, 

No simple duty is forgot 

Life hath no dim and lowly spot 
That doth not in her sunshine share.” 

That evening I went below and asked the good- 
njltured cook for a lunch. I wished to dine in my own 
room, I told her. On my way back I met Mrs. Hason, 
the landlady, in the hall. She glanced at my beaming 
face and asked, “Have vou heard good news, Miss 
Holbrook,” 

“The best in the world,” I answered, as T ran lightly 
up the steps, eager to be with my sister. Rut I would 
tell no one of my discovery on that first day of our 
reunion, for I must have her all to myself for a time. 
Each inmate of that modest boarding house knew of 
and were interested in my search for my lost sister. 
But T could not spare the time to explain how I found 
her just then, and when I spread out' in most tempting 
way those viands and bade her partake of them, with 
a little shudder, a shrinking away and paling of cheek, 
she cried : 

“Oh, Olive, I do not eat flesh, do you?” 

Why was it that my eyes fell before her eager, in- 
quiring glance? Why was it that I so long-ed to be 
able to answer no ? 

I set the dish aside and never in her presence has a 
morsel of flesh passed my lips. Far into the night we 


26 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


sat, too happy to think of sleep. When i at length 
kneeled to give thanks for our reunion, my sister did 
not join me, but stood looking at me with a little sor- 
rowful smile. 

When I had done I went to her and said almost 
fearfully, “Has no one ever taught you to kneel and 
pray, Ulrica?” 

‘T do not kneel to my God, Olive,” she said. “I am 
and ever intend to be good enough to stand before 
Him.” 

To say I was shocked would but faintly express what 
I felt on hearing her words. 

“Oh, child, child, what can you mean?” I at length 
found voice to say. 

“I mean that I do not ask help outside myself, for 
the light which shows us the way must come from 
within,” she answered. “Remember, ‘work out your 
own salvation,' and I mean too, that I could not live 
and worship the poor, weak, faulty God of your con- 
ception.” 

“Ulrica, what fanaticism is this that you are nourish- 
ing to such rank growth in your heart?” I cried aghast. 
Who has dared to plant such ill weeds in a young, im- 
matured mind? You must read the blessed Bible; it 
will do away with all such thoughts.” 

“That is where my ideas sprung from,” she said, 
her eyes kindling. “Who can look out upon the suf- 
ferings of humanity, the agonies daily endured by liv- 
ing creatures of all sorts, and not ask why these things 
.must be if God is good? Your conception of Him 
makes Him a respector of persons, hence these ine- 
qualities on every side which entirely refute the idea of 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


27 


justice, and without justice we are a race without hope. 
Oh, Olive,” she went on, “what a dark and altogether 
strange idea you have of Him. Believe me, God is 
naught but the Law. He is no weak, vacillating, per- 
sonal God, who can be moved by our foolish, childish 
supplications. Remember, T am the same yesterday, 
to-day and forever,’ and this Law we must know with 
all its mighty secrets, else we will never know God.” 

“My poor child.” I said sadly, “I fear that you have 
suffered a loss greater than any words’ can express by 
being cast adrift in your tender childhood. It is for us 
to humbly believe the word as it is given us. This 
great mystery you are striving to solve is beyond the 
wisest sage’s power. Leave it alone and let me lead 
you back into the narrow way.” 

“But when one can no longer be content with his 
blind faith, what then?” she asked. 

I was puzzled in finding an answer. 

“No, Olive,” she declared, shaking her head, “I can 
never be content without seeking to solve the mysteries 
of life, the grand mysteries which are called nature, 
that expands in every tiny blade of grass, in every blos- 
som however minute ; that throbs in the very air we 
breathe ; that is as far reaching as all our solar systems ; 
that is as enduring as time itself. Olive, dear, I know 
you have set ideas and beliefs while my mind is still 
unformed, and therefore ready to take in what appeals 
to my understanding as the truth. Believe me, I shall 
never cease in my efforts to understand the Law. I 
no longer find it possible to blindly believe and can 
never sink to your — forgive me — narrow, contracted 
views.” 


28 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


What was I to do with her, I asked myself fearfully ; 
She so young in years and expressing such ideas ! But 
I consoled myself by believing that those wild, extrav- 
agant notions of hers were but vagaries of an 'im- 
matured mind. It was my sweet duty to lead her 
straying feet back into the narrow way. Ap-ain I asked 
her who had dared to propound such a doctrine to one 
so young. 

“No one, Olive,” she answered. “My ideas came to 
me from much thinking; indeed, no one ever seemed 
to remember that I possessed a soul.” 

I wondered greatly as to how she had procured the 
amount of learning it was quite evident she possessed, 
and when I asked her she exclaimed, “Why, Olive, I 
know so little, so very, very little, and I have so longed 
for the opportunity and time to gain knowledge. Two 
years of schooling while at Mrs. Durkin's is all I ever 
had. But I was often present when Isabel Horner took 
her lessons, and I listened and remembered all I could 
and then studied at night. I was permitted to use the 
piano at times and learned to play a little.” 

I looked at her eager face for a moment and said, 
“Ulrica, you must go to school and have music lessons. 
I think I can manage it.” 

“Oh, Olive, if it could be done!” she exclaimed, in 
an ecstacy of delight. “But how could I, and you toil- 
ing day by day in order to give me these advantages,” 
she added, while the enthusiasm died out of her face. 

“Your welfare and happiness is my one care in life, 
Ulrica,” I answered. ‘Won are all I have in the wide 
world.” 

Thoughtfully looking for a moment at me, she said, 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


29 


“No, Olive, the whole world down to the tiniest atom 
is one vast brotherhood, bound together by the ties of 
love. You have the happiness of many to care for.” 

In that moment I felt the superiority of my sister’s 
mind, as I have ever felt it since. Her words opened 
up to me more fully the important mission of life, and 
broader, sweeter duties presented themselves. 

No rest could I take that night, and long after she 
was asleep I sat and watched her. I went to the bed- 
side time after time and kissed her dark curls, her white 
arms, even as a mother would her babe. Oh, the song 
of thanksgiving that welled up from my heart that 
night must indeed have reached the ears of the loving 
father. 

The following evening I hastened home from my 
work earlier than was my wont in order to make some 
necessary purchases for my sister. As I was about to 
decide upon an expensive fabric for a gown, she laid a 
detaining hand on my arm and said : “Something less 
costly will do quite as well. Did you see that poor 
woman who passed us staggering beneath the weight 
of a basket of clothes, with the puny little child beside 
her, Olive? I had much rather give the difference to 
such as they.” 

Ah, she had taught me a lesson of self-denial. I had 
failed to even see the poor woman. I. so busy with my 
owm affairs, my own pleasures, had failed to give an 
unfortunate so much as sympathy. I stood abashed in 
my sister’s presence. “It was for you, Ulrica/’ I said, 
humbly. ' 

“I appreciate and understand that, dear,” she made 
ready answer, “but we must always think of others.” 


30 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


I but give this incident, one of many, to show her 
loving thoughtfulness of others, the abnegation of self. 
When a few days later I had her robed all in white, it 
was good to see her delight, keen as a child’s when in 
the first possession of a new toy. -After all she was a 
true daughter of Eve, I thought, with a little thrill 
of pleasure. I was glad of any sign which assured me 
of her love for earthly things, for her perfections had 
begun to pall upon me. 

That bright, happy summer sped swiftly by. My 
sister made arrangements with Mrs. Mason to do little 
things, as she expressed it, for her board and the use 
of the piano. I procured a good music master for her 
and she entered the public school in the autumn. In 
this manner two years were passed. Oh, those happy, 
happy days, when she was all in all to me ; when I 
would hasten home from my work and she would greet 
me with joyful smiles and loving caresses. How glad 
T was to toil for her, that her life might be brighter 
and happier. Indeed, in those days it but seemed a 
blessed privilege to do so. 

One day in the early springtime, I entered my room 
after my day’s labor, but perceived no signs of my 
sister’s return from school. When I inquired of Mrs. 
Mason as to her whereabouts, I was informed that she 
had not been seen since morning. My thoughts flew 
to Mrs. Durkin. Could it be possible that she had 
found my sister and by some subterfuge enticed her 
away? Wildly alarmed, I went in search of her, and 
met her hastening up the street with all her school 
books under her arm. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


31 


'T feared that you would be alarmed, Olive,” she 
said, “but 1 could not possibly come before.” 

When we had regained our room, she startled me by 
saying, “Olive, I cannot exist in this idleness any 
longer. I must earn something.” 

“But why, dear?” I asked. “We are manag^ing very 
nicely. You knovr we have a little money put by in 
case of sickness, c' loss of my employment.” 

“Yes, I know,” le answered, “but I have felt for 
some time that I was not doing right.” The unshed 
tears were standing in her eyes as she continued. “Oh, 
Olive, had you seen the poor little sick child wdth 
whom I stayed this evening, with its widowed mother 
w^eeping over it, crying out that her darling was dying 
for the very necessities of life, which she w^as unable 
to provide, you would think as I do. I want to work 
for such as they.” 

I looked at her in astonishment and cried : “Why, 
child, there are so many such persons in the world you 
can do nothing to relieve their wants ; besides, they 
have no claim upon you.” 

“Every living creature in the universe has a claim 
upon me,” she answered. 

No argument of mine could induce her to alter her 
view's and determination to work. When I at last de- 
manded her obedience she said : “I am grieved to dis- 
please you, dear sister, but in this I cannot obey you.” 

So it was that I procured an apprenticeship of three 
months duration for her in a millinery establishment. 
She spent her evenings poring over her books, until I 
had to protest lest her health suffer. Knowledge was 
quite as necessary for her mind as food for her body. 


32 


CLIMBING THP: HEIGHTS. 


Her Sabbaths were spent with the sick and poor, and 
as time passed on and she came to draw a salary, with 
them she divided it, small though it was. And ever 
as I look back to those days I see more vividly the 
greatness of her heart compared to my own. Whilst I 
would attend a fashionable church and pray for the 
poor, destitute ones, at the same time contril)uting 
towards its grand furnishings or the sumptuous living 
of its pastor, my sister went amongst the poor and suf- 
fering ones, giving her mite, ministering to them, may- 
hap washing up their floors, rocking cross babies to 
sleep and tidying up the neglected children. Blessed 
indeed were her ways, though she professed not the 
God of my worship, for she still held fast to her strange 
beliefs. But when I saw her following so close in the 
steps of the blessed One, I ceased to be troubled as to 
the salvation of her soul. 

One Sabbath morning early in June I attended 
church as usual. The sermon was preached by a 
stranger from another city. I became deeply interested 
by the forcible, eloquent manner in which it was de- 
livered and was agreeably surprised when I entered 
the parlor on my return to find the stranger engaging 
a summer’s board with Mrs. Mason. She introduced 
him as the Rev. Earnest Blackburn. Why was it that 
my heart stirred so strangely when his handsome grey 
eyes rested upon me admiringly? Never before had 
I thrilled with pride because I was fair to look upon. 
I had inherited the blonde hair and blue eyes of my 
mother, and, as my sister told me, was most divinely 
tall. Little thought had I given to these things before, 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


33 


for I knew that she would love me were I a fright, and 
hers was all the love I had ever craved. 

Soon after Mrs. Mason left us, my sister entered the 
room and, observing no one but myself, said sadly, 
“The little child is dead, Olive.” 

There were traces of tears on her face. Well did she 
know when tears held the most healing power for a 
breaking heart, and she gave them freely, though many 
hold the inane idea that smiles alone hold cheer for 
the sorrowful. All during that morning she had been 
with a poor woman whose little child had been very 
ill for sometime, and I had been asked to go, but had 
declined, saying that I must attend church. She had 
said then, “Better had you give of yourself and your 
mite in building up the Temple of God’s worship in 
the heart of a fellow creature by some kindly deed.” 

Ah, were we two weighed in the balance, which 
would be found wanting ? And she so young in years, 
yet guiding her steps with such wisdom ! 

As my sister turned to leave the room my glance was 
attracted toward the open window. A pair of eyes 
were gazing eagerly at her, eyes that gleamed with the 
light of a basalisk, and when they left her a moment 
and rested upon me, I knew we were recognized, and 
the evil genius of my sister’s life, ^Irs. Durkin, passed 
on with a satisfied smile hovering about her lips. 

“Is the young lady a relative of yours?” inquired 
the Rev. Earnest Blackburn, after my sister had gone. 

“Young lady!” I exclaimed in surprise, for it came 
upon me with a shock. “I have never yet regarded my 
sister as aught but a child,” I said. 

“She is certainly' not a very little child,” he said. 


34 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


smiling at the consternation that must have been writ- 
ten on my face. 

After a time I followed her to our room and found 
her busy — sewing. Sewing ! and on the Sabbath day ! 
Fashioning a garment, not for the dead child, but for 
one who was yet living, and when I protested she said 
calmly : ‘Tf it is right to spend the Sabbath day in idle- 
ness, while there are the ill and sufifering needing our 
services, I cannot divine right from wrong, Olive.” 

What could I do but take my needle and assist her 
in finishing the garment, which was for a little fever- 
racked child, who much needed a fresh, cool gown to 
allay its sufferings. Did not even Christ think it com- 
mendable to appease the pangs of sufifering on the 
Sabbath day? 

So it was that the fates had willed that the paths of 
Mrs. Durkin and my sister should cross once more. I 
strove but without success to throw ofif the fear which 
oppressed me; the fear that the woman would make 
good her word and cause my sister to rue the day she 
had left her. 

'‘How foolish I am,” I said to myself over and over. 
“What could she possibly want with her now?” But 
that nameless fear would cling to me. I besought my 
sister to consent to our removal to another boarding 
place, dear as my few friends and surroundings were 
to me. 

“No, Olive,” she answered, “Mrs. Durkin can surely 
have no wish to keep me now. Indeed, I think it 
strange that she ever wanted me. We will not quit the 
place that is home to us.” 

I gave way to her wishes, as indeed I did in almost 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


35 


all things, for she was the more self-reliant and 
stronger minded of the two. And as the days and 
weeks slipped by and three whole months had come and 
gone, I lost a part of my fear and caution also. Those 
were sweet days for me, those long ago summer days, 
when the Rev. Ernest Blackburn would accompany my 
sister and me in our long evening walks and in our 
wanderings to some sequestered nook outside the city, 
where we passed our only day of rest out of the seven 
when my sister was not with the sick or dying poor. 
And in those wanderings she ever held some little child 
by the hand, giving it the joy of a day amid the flowers 
and butterflies, the cool softness of the green sward 
and the sweet breathed clover. 

The Rev. Ernest Blackburn’s business in the city was 
to complete his studies for the ministry, and ere the 
summer days were half gone I confessed to myself that 
I had surrendered my heart to his keeping. Truly the 
old adage that “true love never runs smoothly” did not 
apply to our case, for nothing occurred to mar our hap- 
piness until — but ah, I must not anticipate. 

Vividly does the memory of an early autumn day 
arise before me, because of the bitter and the sweet in- 
terblended which that day brought forth. A party from 
our boarding house had repaired to the woods for a 
parting visit ere old father Winter stole away all the 
beauties of Jack Frost’s handiwork. Highways and 
byways were indeed rich with color. The spot we se- 
lected for destination this selfsame autumn visitor must 
lovingly cover, choosing his brightest paints with which 
to besprinkle the verdure ; for the vivid red of the state- 
Iv old oaks, contrasting with the gold of the swaying 


36 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


maples, made a most gorgeous background for the 
bright hued blossoms, summer’s parting gift, with 
which she had strewn the landscape so generously. On 
this lovely spot was a brook running southward after 
the departed summer, murmuring joyfully to the grass 
tufts and blossoms which leaned over its banks nod- 
ding encouragement to it on its undertaking, while here 
and there flitted gaudy winged butterflies sipping the 
sweets of the day. Over all hung a hazy mist, more 
beautiful than bridal veil, and through its golden 
meshes the sunlight kissed the earth softly with a 
contented sigh. The fluttering leaves, the rippling 
brook, the chirping insects all sang peace, peace, peace. 
The golden promises of spring and summer had indeed 
been fulfilled, and ere the day was done I was a prom- 
ised bride. As we two stood hand in hand plighted 
lovers, that golden afternoon, my sister came to us and 
with a swift glance at my telltale face understood. 

“Dear sister, I am glad,” she softly said, kissing my 
cheek ; but I saw a shadow pass over her face and I 
remembered she had once told me that she did not 
believe in marriage. However, this thought did not de- 
tract from my joy, for I could not believe that life 
held a greater or more noble state of existence than to 
be queen of a good man’s heart. 

Soon she left us alone with our happiness, but called 
back: “Olive, I am going just over that little knoll 
there for a lovely cluster of goldeni od I saw this morn- 
ing.” 

“We will wait here,” I called to her. 

We watched her move away from us, in her fresh 
young beauty, beauty which pen is all inadequate to de- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


37 


scribe. Surely no artist was ever yet born who could 
catch and place on canvas the matchless ^race of her 
person, the velvety softness of her midnight eyes, 
whose changing lights were ever something to marvel 
over, now tranquil as a summer sea, now heavy with 
unshed tears for the woes of some suffering creature, 
now alight with the reflected joy of some little child, 
now flashing with some lofty thought and deepening 
with untold worship, as she would stand at night read- 
ing the stars or mayhap seeing beyond them, thinking 
of things which I in my simplicity could never grasp. 
Thus she was. Ah" me, as I remember her on that 
(lay. We saw her turn and wave her hand when she 
gained the summit of the grassy knoll ; saw her white- 
robed figure, which seemed to gather all the light about 
it, disappear on the opposite side. Yet nothing whis- 
pered to me to go after her and draw her back into 
the safe shelter of my loving arms. Nothing whispered 
to me of the years that must intervene ere I beheld her 
dear face again. 

We waited there by the brook side until the sun 
dipped low in the western sky and still she did not re- 
turn. Mrs. Mason called that we must be starting 
homeward soon. I sent Ernest — yes, I dared to so call 
him now — after my sister, but he returned alone ! For 
he had found nothing but the tracks of a light one- 
horse wagon near the spot where we had last seen 
her. Then it was the truth flashed upon me. Who 
save Mrs. Durkin could have devised the atrocious plan 
of abducting my sister, for I felt assured that such 
was the cause of her absence. But for what purpose 
the woman did it I could not surmise. Surely not for 


38 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


revenge against such a little child as was my sister 
when she left her. 

Across the rosy flame of my new found joy this blow 
fell with crushing force. Oh, foolish creatures that we 
are, mapping out our course in life to suit ourselves 
when the future, whose meaning is the unforseen, is 
ever ready to bar our. progress and turn our footsteps 
into a strange path. Alas, what is to be will be, and 
my poor sister’s path was mapped out by I gher hands 
than either hers or mine. My beloved wl ipered con- 
soling words, fanning to life the one spark hope still 
lingering in my heart. He would find ner and all 
would yet be well, he assured me. 

Consternation prevailed amid the wondering group 
when Ernest explained my suspicions to them. It was 
indeed a sad ending to our day in the woods ; and after 
we had all gone to the place where my sister had dis- 
appeared and searched the vicinity over for some clue 
to her whereabouts, we still found nothing save that 
the vehicle had turned on the spot and gone toward the 
city again. Through the fast gathering dusk we re- 
turned homeward with gloomy faces, I almost frantic 
with the fear which uncertainty as to her fate laid upon 
me. 

Ernest reported the disappearance of my sister im- 
mediately to the local authorities and search was made, 
but interest soon died out when there was no money 
forthcoming. Oh, the weary days that followed — days 
in which I must carry my grievous burden alone, for 
Ernest, kind and faithful, had become a self-con- 
stituted detective and was gone many days at a time. 
However, it was alt to no purpose. But why prolong 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


39 


the story of the unfruitful search? Three months 
dragged themselves into the past and still no tidings 
of my sister. One day in the latter part of January 
Ernest returned after ^n absence of ten days, and I 
knew by his downcast face that he had again been 
entirely unsuccessful. There were letters awaiting him 
from home. One was a call to duty. His flock had 
grown tired of waiting for their pastor and wished his 
return. 

“Heaven knows I dislike to tell you, dear one,” he 
said to me that night as we were alone in the parlor, 
“but I cannot carry on this search any longer, for I 
am a poor man, as it behooves every minister of the 
gospel to be, and besides I must go. Must I go alone, 
Olive?” 

“Oh, I cannot leave here now,” I answered. “It 
would seem like deserting Ulrica.” 

“1 know, dear,” he pleaded, “but what can we do 
without money ? I will go home and borrow the neces- 
sary funds to employ an experienced detective, and, if 
possible, our sister shall soon be found.” 

There was surely logic in his pleadings, and when I 
remembered all his unselfishness, how he had shared 
my sorrow and the tireless love he had shown for me 
and mine, I could not say him nay. 


CHAPTER IV. 


‘‘Life is full of broken measures, 

Objects unattained ; 

Sorrows intertwined with pleasures, 

Losses of our costliest treasures. 

Ere the heights be gained.” 

A few days later we were quietly married in the 
church we had both attended. As our friends crowded 
around us with their kind congratulations, I shed 
tears half of joy and half of sorrow. I missed so 
sorely the sight of my sister’s face. Her dear pres- 
ence was all that was wanting to make me the hap- 
piest woman in existance. I think a little corner of 
heaven finds its way to earth when two hearts are 
wedded for all time and during all the years of my 
wedded life I found no flaw in the character of my 
husband. Perhaps love blinded me to his faults; but 
if so, it is sweet to be thus blinded. 

What mattered it, that I performed the most me- 
nial tasks in our little house? I swept and dusted, 
washed up floors and cooked and was overjoyed to do 
these things for his dear sake, for he ever remained 
a poor man as was compatible with his calling. 

Four weeks we had been in that beautiful southern 
city of Richmond when Ernest came home one even- 
ing and laid an open letter in my hand. “Read it 
dear wife,” he said, “and thank God that our sister 
is safe.” And I did thank God most fervently. The 
letter was from Mrs. Mason and ran thus : 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


41 


N. Y. City, Feb. 21st, 18 — . 
Dear Mrs. Blackburn : — 

I am pleased to inform, you that your sister was 
here today with her husband. It was a great sur- 
prise to me when she came rushing into the hall, all 
aglow with the thought of seeing you, and she was 
terribly disappointed by your absence. They were in 
quite a hurry to catch a train, so she had no time to 
write today, but requested me to do so. She did not 
explain her long absence to me. I hope she is all 
right and happy, though her husband seems a trifle 
old and gloomy for one like her. He is a farmer and 
their address is Hampton, N. Y. She promised to 
visit me occasionally, as her home is not far from the 
city. So I hope to see you and your husband also 
when you visit her. I remain. 

Yours sincerely, 

Fanny Mason.” 

To say that I was surprised would but faintly ex- 
press my feelings. My little sister a wife! It was all 
so sudden that I instinctively felt that love had not 
led her into this marriage. It was with anxious heart 
and forebodings that I waited for that promised letter 
which reached me three days later and partly assured 
me of her wellfare. However, I could not shake off 
the belief that she had been forced into marriage in 
some unaccountable manner. 

I could never be entirely happy away from my dar- 
ling, although I knew myself unreasonable in expect- 
ing to keep ever at her side through life. That 
longed-for letter was as follows : 


42 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


Hampton, N. Y., Feb. 24, 18 — 
My dear, dear sister : — 

At last I have the opportunity to write you. I 
have so longed to send you some tidings of myself 
knowing how you must have been harassed with fears 
as to my welfare. How strange it seems to tell you that 
I am a wife, and hope to be a very happy one. It was 
very unexpected and sudden and I have scarcely had 
time to realize my position. 

You see, dear, it was this way. That dreadful day 
when I last saw you, I was scarcely out of your sight 
when a couple of rough looking men appeared and 
picking me up bodily placed me in a covered wagon, 
preventing my screams by binding a cloth across my 
mouth. They drove directly to Mrs. Durkin’s house, 
which is in the suburbs. You may have surmised that 
she was the cause of my disappearance. Well, many 
things happened which I cannot explain on paper. 
Mark, that is my husband’s name, rescued me from 
her. When I see you I will explain more fully. You 
must come to me as soon as Ernest can spare you. 
You must have no anxiety for me. I suppose we are 
much better placed in life that we were when to- 
gether, but, C)h, dear sister, I do miss you. To know 
that those delightful days can come no more saddens 
me — but never mind. Mark is quite well to do. We 
have a large farm three miles from Hampton station 
and everything seems very lovely and strange to me. 
I am quite busy arranging my household now. Tell 
me all about your daily life and I want my dear 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


43 


brother Ernest to write me. You know how highly I 
regard him. 

I send to you both my best love, 

“Your sister, 

Ulrica Warren.” 

P. S. — That poor girl that was ill, did she miss me, 
Olive 


Alas, I had not gone near the poor girl and it 
shamed me to confess my thoughtlessness. I folded 
the letter and laid it away, but I was far from being 
satisfied and felt almost assured that all was not well 
with her. Why had she been so anxious to impress 
upon me the fact that she was content? She did not 
say that she was happy, but that she hoped to be. 
Where was the warm praise of the newly made hus- 
band which should fall spontaneously from a loving 
wife’s lips? So it was that the main circumstances 
which led to her marriage remained a mystery to m^. 
But I strove to lay aside my misgivings and in this 
was assisted by Ernest who assured me he found 
nothing in the contents of her letter that hinted of 
disappointment. 

And I being so supremely happy in my own sun- 
shiny corner in life, found it hard indeed to enter- 
tain an idea of an opposite state of affairs existing for 
any one. For me life was one long day dream of joy; 
and as the days, weeks and months -trod on each 
other’s heels in joyous swiftness, a year passed ere 
I realize'd that half of it had sped away. Still I had 
not seen my sister. Her husband and his family were 
yet strangers to me. Into her letters had crept a 


44 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


perceptible tone of weariness with scarcely a word of 
Mark, and she no longer urged me to visit her. So 
blinded was I by the dazzling brightness of my own 
happiness that I made no effort to go and see if all 
was really well with her. One day a letter came in- 
forming me that there had come a wee small stranger 
into her household. Then the last doubt of her hap- 
^ piness fell away from me. I knew how great was 
her love for little children, and felt that her heart and 
life would henceforth be full. 

Six years thus hurried into the past and not even 
yet had I looked again upon my sister’s face. I have 
often wondered since, that I had never gone to her, 
that we, who had been so near and dear, should al- 
low so many years to intervene between our meeting. 
But so it was. I with the manifold duties of a pastor’s 
wife, which only those so situated can realize, had de- 
layed the intended visit from time to time. She had 
never mentioned coming to me after her first few let- 
ters. 

Oh, how little I dreamed of the sad circumstances 
which would cause me to make that long deferred 
visit. 

One evening in the early Springtime, I was tidying 
the parlor for the homecoming of Ernest, my 
thoughts occupied with my sister and her child. Soon 
an unaccountable restlessness took possession of me 
and increased as the moments passed. How plainly 
I can see even yet the lengthening shadows creeping, 
creeping like things of evil to my very door. When 
the sun suddenly sank behind a dark, low lying cloud, 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


45 


I stood as one transfixed. I strove to shake off my 
fear and laughed uneasily. 

“How foolish I am,” I said aloud, and was startled 
so strangely did my voice sound. Yet I stood and 
watched the light fading from the sky till all grew 
misty and chill. Oh, it was the last sunset I watched 
for many a day. I went indoors and lighted the lamp 
and glanced at the clock, wondering at Ernest being 
so late in coming. But still the clock ticked another 
hour away, ere I heard the front gate open and close 
as some one came hurriedly up the walk. 

Opening the door I found one of my friends, Mrs. 
Hatton confronting me. I saw that in her white face, 
which told me that something was wrong. I would 
have no parleying, but grasped her arm and de- 
manded to know at once what it was. I heard her 
words as the knell of doom. Ernest had suddenly 
been killed in a railway accident as he was returning 
home from a neighboring parish where he had gone 
to deliver a sermon. In my bitter anguish I cried 
out that God had forsaken me. Then a dense dark- 
ness closed round me and I knew no more. 

Oh, say not that two souls woven together by such 
endearing ties and sweet companionship, can thus be 
rudely torn asunder and not feel the strain, even 
though the width of the world divide them and no 
mortal tongue tells the tale. When I regained con- 
sciousness, they told me, I had been battling against 
death four weary weeks. How strangely dark and 
void my life seemed as the knowledge of my loss 
rushed to mind with overwhelming force. How the 
words of my dying mother rang in my ears at that 


46 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


moment. 'My child, always bow to the will of God. 
Kiss the rod that smites you.’ My thoughts flew to 
my sister, surely she was with me at such a time. My 
love for her began to glow in my breast, doubling and 
redoubling now that she was all I had. I called her 
name faintly, but only kind Mrs. Hatton came. 

“You must be quiet, Mrs. Blackburn,” she said. 
“I telegraphed immediately for your sister and re- 
ceived word that she could not come.” 

“I must see the letter,” I cried. 

My sister had not penned it. 

“Write and tell my sister that I am recovering and 
will be with her as soon as I can travel,” I said. 

Mrs. Hatton did as I requested. Oh, how I longed 
to fly to my sister, that she might explain away her 
seeming desertion of me in my time of sore distress. 

My recovery was rapid, for the desire to see her 
and the child imbued me with new strength. So one 
month later I bade farewell for a time to my little 
home, out of which the sunlight seemed to have fled 
forever more. I had yet another spot to bid fare- 
well and my heart almost failed me as I first looked 
upon that low green mound which hid by beloved 
from my longing view. Kindly hands had laid him 
down to rest beneath the sighing southern pines and 
I in my delirious illness, had never beheld his dead 
face. And it was well for my memory of him in all 
the glow of health and life and happiness was far 
sweeter. I kneeled there in the morning sunlight and 
sought to kiss the rod even as my dead mother had 
told me, even as I knew he would wish me to do. But 
not yet was it possible for my rebellious heart to sub- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


47 


mit, though I knew it would be sweet to fall pros- 
trate at the feet of God, taking weal or woe from his 
hand and still smile and say, ‘Thy will be done.’ 

Two days later I reached Hampton, N. Y., and a 
desolate place it was indeed. A few straggling cot- 
tages stood near the small depot. A solitary farm 
wagon devoid of occupants was standing along side 
the bare platform on which I had been denosited with 
my baggage. I looked about me helplessly. I had 
oictured all through my journey my sister’s lovely, 
sympathetic face which would be there to meet me. 
But no such sight greeted my eyes. Presently a 
stolid, heavy-browed, middle-aged farmer came leis- 
urely across the street and eyeing me in the same 
manner apparently without the least interest, inquired 
if I was Mrs. 'Blackburn. 

“I am,” I answered. “Were you sent to meet me?” 

“Yes, I am Mark Warren,” he answered stiflfly. 

So great was my surprise that I could form no suit- 
able words of greeting. There was no kindly light in 
his eyes, no brotherly friendliness in his voice; and 
when he af¥ected not to see the hand I at length found 
courage to offer him, I was chilled to the heart. When 
I thought of how Ernest woiild have greeted my sis- 
ter had she been so situated, of the loving hand clasp, 
the sympathizing words of consolation, the tender 
brotherly kiss she would have received, and which I 
missed even from this country boor, I kept back my 
tears with an effort. Without further words he put 
my luggage into the nearby wagon, and invited me 
to follow as best I could. 

My fears that my sister had been forced into this 


48 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


marriage became certainties now that I had seen her 
life companion. I pondered deeply during that ride, 
seeking to solve the intricate problem of whv she had 
joined her fair young life to one who must be incon- 
genial in every respect. Why he did not even practice 
the common civilities of life and was silent and repell- 
ing. Nothing could I draw from him save monosylla- 
bles in answer to my questions of my sister and her 
child. As we turned a corner suddenly and found a 
roadside bordered in lavish profusion by wild roses, 
interspersed with clinging vines of the morning 
j^lory whose many hued, starry eyes had not yet 
been blinded by the early morning sunshine, I involun- 
tarily exclaimed, ‘'How beautiful.” 

“Troublesome weeds,” he said, contemptuously. . 

Evidently the beauties of nature had no charms 
for him. I understood his narrow warped nature 
from that hour and never have I had cause to change 
my first convictions. 

And my sister, how can I describe our mutual joy 
at again being united or how can I describe the un- 
utterable woe in her white face, the deadly chill that 
had fallen like a blight over her bright spirit. My 
searching eyes read at a glance her unhappiness, 
which she strove to hide with her old time smile. A 
burning light which almost amounted to a horror, . 
dwelt in her eyes which no smile could chase away. 
What slow torture had been at work these many past 
years bringing about this change in my darling’s one- 
time sunny face. 

Almost her first words were, “Why did not Ernest 
come with you?” 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


49 


I gazed at her, too shocked to speak, and felt the 
blood leaving my face. I could only point to my 
crape-trimmed gown. 

“I do not understand,’' she said in a puzzled tone, 
coming nearer me. 

“Surely you know,” I found voice to say. “My dar- 
ling, I am widowed.” 

Putting loving arms around me, she cried, “Oh, 
Olive, and you have been alone through it all. Why 
did you not send for me? No one under the sun 
should have kept me from you.” 

“You were sent for, dear,” I answered, “but Mark 
wrote that you could not come.” She said nothing 
and I cried, no longer able to repress my tears. “Oh, 
Ulrica, for what purpose did he keep this from you?” 

“I can tell you myself,” came a gruff voice, as Mark 
stepped into the room. “I knew she’d be bawling 
around and I hate such nonsense; besides she could 
waste neither time nor money on such a useless trip 
as you proposed.” 

Without more words he glanced at the clock and 
went about his work. Thus was the greatest sorrow 
of my life disposed of by the man whom the law had 
made my brother. Oh, it was almost unbearable, it 
was indeed! 

At that moment a little tot made her appearance 
at the door, a little tot with bonnie blue eyes and 
tangled, sunshiny curls. But she had not the soft, 
sweet expression of her mother, for her whole make- 
up plainly showed that she was combative to a de- 
gree. 

“I am Aunt Olive,” I said, taking her in my arms 


50 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


and kissing the tiny face. My sister soon left us in 
order to attend to her household duties, and whilst 
little Dorothy eyed me with round, curious orbs, I 
took a mental inventory of my surroundings. Evi- 
dently the room I occupied served as a parlor and 
spare bedroom, for in one corner stood an old-fash- 
ioned four-posted bedstead ; some stool chairs, a small 
uncovered stand table, plain muslin blinds stretched 
across the narrow windows completed the furnish- 
ings. The floor was bare, not even a rug to break 
the severity of its outlines. Not a book, not a pic- 
ture, not even a trailing vine was there to give life 
and color to the cheerless aparfment. I marveled 
more and more as I mentally compared it to the small 
room my sister and I had occupied when together, 
how she brightened it with the little creations which 
her hands had wrought, making it a veritable work of 
art. Dorothy’s childish prattle demanded my atten- 
tion and soon I asked her to show me mamma’s flow- 
ers. 

'‘She hasn’t any,” said the child. "Papa don’t like 
them, and her digs them up when mamma plants 
them.” 

"Of whom are you speaking, Dorothy?” I asked in 
surprise. 

"Why just an old woman that comes here,” was 
the answer. 

"But what is her name,” I persisted. 

"Just her,” she declared, looking at me defiantly. 
"Papa tries to make me call her auntie, but I won’t. 
She makes mamma cry and I hate her.” This with 
flashing eyes. "Pll call you auntie, though,” she said 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


51 


complacently, “because you’re pretty. I like pretty 
people, they’re good ; but ugly ones are bad ones.” 

I was silent from sheer amazement. What dreadful 
influence had been brought to bear upon the child 
causing her to form such opinions? Eyeing me sharp- 
ly for a few moments she said : “I wish mamma had 
a nice dress like yours. You must be awful rich. 
Have you any old one you could let her have?” 

“Why child,’’ I exclaimed. “No doubt mamma has 
many dresses nicer than mine.”' 

“No, she hasn’t,” said the little one quickly. “She 
put on the best one she’s got because you was com- 
ing. Her said it was too fine for anything only to 
wear to meeting.” 

The child prattled on, but I scarcely heard more, 
for I was lost in thought. I remembered that my sis- 
ter was wearing a plain gingham house dress, neat 
and tasty, but cheap. On every side were evidence 
of pinching poverty, and yet my sister had written me 
that Mark was well to do. 

“Who helps mamma do the work?” I asked pres- 
ently. 

“I do,” answered the little one, proudly. “And her 
comes and helps sometimes, but I say her just 
bounces around and scolds and tells how to do 
things.” 

Of what, indeed, was my sister thinking when she 
permitted any one to dictate to her about her house- 
hold arrangements. Alas, when I made the acquaint- 
ance of her, I wondered no more. 


CHAPTER V. 

ONE DAY. 

“We are better for the longing, 

Stronger for the pain. 

Souls at ease are Nature wronging ; 

Through the harrowed soil come thronging, 
Seeds in sun and rain.” 

* I assisted Ulrica in preparing the noon day meal and 
attempted to make myself agreeable striving to throw 
off the weight of disappointment that was tugging at 
my heart so heavily. Mark and three hired men came 
in with a clatter of heavy boots on the bare floor of the 
stuffy little kitchen and without a word took their 
places at the table. No attempt at conversation was 
made. Even the every day courtesies of life were 
omitted. Ulrica waited on them with toil hardened 
hands as silent as they ; her lagging step and white 
face telling the tale of utter weariness of both body 
and mind. “No doubt she has been doing this all these 
six long: years,” I thought, my anger rising. 

I looked at the thin, wasted form, which had never 
rounded out and developed into magnificent woman- 
hood such as I knew must have been had the proper 
conditions existed. My anger grew apace as I mentally 
exclaimed, “What rigj-ht has this man to make a slave 
of her? What right has she to wear out her bright 
young life in this manner? Her life that was so full 
of hope and great possibilities when I last saw her. 


Climbing the heights. 


53 


She filling the place of the most ignorant drudging ser- 
vant ! And it all unnecessary as I well knew.” 

Mark Warren ignored my very presence and it re- 
quired no great amount of perception to undersatnd 
that to him I was a most unwelcome guest. And I had 
come with the expectation of making my home with 
my sister and her husband. How gladly would Ernest 
and I have welcomed Ulrica and her child to our home 
had she been situated as was I ? 

Ulrica was busy all that long heated summer after- 
noon with little odds and ends of tasks that only a 
farmer’s wife can find to do. I asked Dorothy if 
mamma ever stopped working. “Oh, no; she can’t,” 
was the answer. “Papa says her keeps everything go- 
ing in her house and mamma can too.” 

The child was full of reminiscences of her and she 
prattled on in her quaint way until Ulrica gently chided 
her, saying, “You must not speak so of Aunt Martha.” 

“But she’s not my aunt; I hate her,” was the quick 
retort. 

Ulrica looked at the resentful little face with a great 
pain in her own eyes, but she did not chide the child 
more. 

At length the busy day was done and I kept Dorothy 
with me that night. With her childish chatter she 
disclosed the secret of my sister’s unhappy existence 
more fully than did she herself in all the after years. 
But^reat was my joy when that little white-robed crea- 
ture kneeled by the . bedside and offered ud her even- 
ing prayer. Who but her moth'er had taught her this ? 
“Does mamma do so ?” I asked in trembling tones. 

“No, and I don’t want to do it, but I’m afraid not 
to,” came the answer straight. 


54 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


‘‘Why are you afraid, Dorothy ?” I asked. 

“Because papa is always telling me what dreadful 
things God will do to me if I don’t pray and be good. 
Oh, God must be awful wicked,” she said, in an awe- 
struck whisper. 

Horrified, I asked: “What does mamma say?” 

“She tells me to be good because I love God and not 
because I’m afraid of Him ; that God is not a great big 
man, but he is just love, love! Oh, you ought to see 
mamma’s face when she tells me that !” exclaimed the 
little one, her own face all alight. “I do try to love 
God that way too,” she exclaimed, while a shadow 
blotted out all the light in the shining eyes, “but then 
I can’t ; I’m too afraid. Anyway, I love my mamma 
best,” she concluded, laying her drowsy little head on 
the pillow. 

“Is it after all a mistake to teach the fear of God be- 
fore love is enthroned in the hearts of little children?” 
I asked myself. At least it was so in this case. My 
heart was indeed heavy that night. 

The following morning I arose with the intention of 
taking a walk in the gloriously beautiful sunshine. How 
out of keeping was the gloomy apartment I occupied 
with the beauty of that summer morn. The four walls 
kept out all the brightness and I made haste to escape 
its depressing atmosphere. As I stepped out into the 
bare front yard I saw Ulrica coming up a side path 
carrying in either hand a heavy pail of foaming milk. 
I gave up the walk I had promised myself and re- 
paired to the kitchen. She turned to me with a smile, 
l)ut all her forced smiles could not deceive me into the 
belief that she was content. After she had strained and 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


55 


put away the milk she said : ‘‘Come, Olive, sit here and 
let me give you some breakfast; you must excuse us 
for not waiting. We are early risers, for there is so 
much morning work to do on a farm.’^ 

We had promised ourselves that we would pass the 
day in the woods, and Ulrica busied herself with pre- 
paring a lunch for the occasion. 

“Mark has gone to his sister’s and we shall be alone,” 
she said in such a tone of relief that I looked up 
quickly. Before I could say anything, however, in 
bounded Dorothy, who had just awakened. 

“Oh, mamma, mamma !” she screamed, “her is com- 
ing and papa too. We can’t go now. Let’s hide and 
maybe she’ll go back home ! I hate her, I hate her ! 
The old ” 

“Dorothy, hush,” cofnmanded Ulrica, but there was 
a look of keen disaopointment on her own features. 
Evidently a day in the woods was a rare pleasure to 
them both. 

Presently we heard heavy steps on the walk and an 
elderly female made her appearance at the kitchen 
door. She was clad in a faded calico gown, barely 
reaching her shoe tops, while a black sunbonnet that 
might have seen twenty years of service was set well 
over a face which for harshness of outline and traces 
of ill temper it would be most difficult to find a match. 
Pleavy thick soled shoes such as farm hands might 
wear while following the plow added to the uncouth- 
ness of her appearance. Without paying the least at- 
tention to me, she raised her bony hands in horror, cry- 
ing out in a rasping voice : 

“Why, Ricky, I declare to goodness your work ain’t 


56 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


done up yet. Here I’ve come five mile this mornin’ 
after doin’ all mine and churnin’ besides. Sich trifli- 
ness I never beam of. It’s enough to drain any man’s 
pocketbook. It’s dredful to think on, to what a pass 
poor John Markus’ll come yet.” 

As she took a breathing spell Ulrica looked at her 
bravely and said : ‘‘Why, Martha, it is not late yet, 
and ” 

“You need’nt make excuses to me,” she interrupted, 
angrily. “I say it’s a sin to waste precious time, and 
the Lord says so too.” 

“But this is the Sabbath, Martha,” expostulated 
Ulrica, “and as the men do not go to the fields, there is 
no occasion for such early rising.” 

“Well,” answered the exasperating creature, “you’d 
better be a readin’ your Bible ’stead of lollin’ ’round of 
a Sabbath mornin’.” 

“Who have we here. I’d like to know,” she said 
abruptly, as if just discovering my presence. “I s’nose 
you think I’m not a fit person to be made acquainted 
with your fine friends.” 

“Martha, you know better; you did not give me 
time,” said Ulrica, her face flushing painfully. 

“This is my sister, Olive, of whom I have spoken so 
many times.” 

I bowed distantly. She drew her eyeglasses from the 
folds of her gown and after adjusting them on her nose 
to her satisfaction, surveyed me critically from head to 
foot. 

‘‘Well, I must say, she be a heap more sensibler 
lookin’ than you air, Ricky,” she said, curtly. “I never 
could endure such a faded, washed-out look as you’ve 


CLIMBING THB HEIGHTS. 


57 


got. If you’d take your hoe and git out in the fields 
like I do, you’d git some color in your face. You had a 
plenty when you first come here. It might a been 
that you had to work some afore John Markus got you« 
I must say he got fooled nice when he took you in.” 

Ulrica made no reply to the insulting remarks, 
though I could scarce refrain from doing so in her be- 
half. 

“Well, I’ll not waste another minute standin’ here,” 
presently declared Martha. “I’m agoin’ to look over 
the place an’^ see whab’s agoin’ to waste.” 

She stalked out to the garden. Knowing that it was 
useless to make a pretense of not understanding my 
sister’s domestic trials, I asked abruptly, “Has it been 
so all these years, Ulrica?” 

“Yes,” she answered, quietly. 

She saw my pitying look and said, “No, Olive; I am 
scarcely deserving pity,” while that burning light in 
her eyes flamed anew. 

“What can you mean ?” I said in astonishment. 

“I do not deserve pity because I am so fallen,” she 
cried, such pain in her voice that I had not the heart 
to ask an explanation, for her words mystified me not 
a little. She had not yet given me the history of her 
escape from Mrs. Durkin, and I felt a little hurt that 
she had not done so at the first opportunity. 

I turned away in search of Dorothy, but she was 
nowhere visible. At length I found her tucked securely 
out of sight in the bedroom closet. 

“Auntie,” called a small voice cautiously, “is her 
gone?” I caught the little pet in my arms. “Why, 
darling, are you afraid of her?” I asked, soothingly. 


58 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


“No, I am not,” was the surprising answer, “but I 
do hate to look at her. I cracked her over the head 
with the broom once and she made for me, but mamma 
stepped up and looked at her hard, oh, so hard, and 
that old woman opened her mouth and gapped just 
like Eve seen the fishes do when they are out of water.” 

“Oh, Dorothy, how dreadful,” I cried, aghast. 

“Well, she called my mamma a lazy hussy, so I just 
pooped her one,” said this small protector, proudly, her 
eyes flashing. 

This was by far a worse state of afifairs than I had 
deemed possible. What an atmosphere for a child to 
grow up in — especially this child, who had inherited 
the combatative spirit of her father to such a marked 
degree. 

My meditations were terminated abruptly as a rasp- 
ing voice cried angrily: “Now, Ricky, there you stand. 
I want you to start up that fire, and git a pail and come 
out here. These blueberries air agoin’ to waste. 
They’ve got to be canned afore dinner. A nice idea it 
be, too,” she goes on, “that I’ve got to come over here 
on a Sabbath mornin’ and go to work and save John 
Markuses garden stuff. A nice name you’ll have if 
it gits to be known in the neighborhood.” As an after- 
thought she added : “Tell that Miss Olive to come along 
and help us.” 

“Oh, no, Martha, she need not come,” said Ulrica, 
quickly. “Why not, pray?” came the snappish retort. 
“Is she too good to work? It’s high time sich critters 
was showed that they couldn’t go ’round spongin’ on 
folks and gittin’ waited on.” 


Climbing the heights. 


59 


^‘Oh, do please hush, Martha, she will hear 3"Ou,” 
said Ulrica, pleadingly. 

“Spose I care?” she retorted. “Fur my part, I don’t 
see how John Markus is ever agoin’ to put up with 
so much company. Now this makes three different 
ones that has come to see you in the last two year, but, 
thanks to me, the other two didn’t stay long. 

“If you won’t ask that sister of your’n to work. I’ll 
do it, and mighty quick, too,” she declared, as she 
stalked to the middle door. “Here, Miss Ol, lend us 
a hand. There’s lots to do here. We’re poor folks an’ 
can’t loll ’round.” Her tone and manner were most 
insulting. Utterly ignoring her, I went up to Ulrica 
and said : “Dear, I would not tire myself out with such 
work this lovely morning. To-morrow will answer' 
just as well.” 

Before she could reply the old harridan was upon us, 
fairly screaming in her impotent rage. 

“How dare you uphold her in her laziness. You air 
a triflin’ hussy, an’ so is she. What did the ’onery 
thing have when John Markus took her in. I’d like to 
know. Oh, that I should ever see this day with poor 
John Markus so fooled and well nigh broke up.” 

She had worked herself into a perfect frenzy by this 
time, and I looked at her in dismay. Never did I so 
long to take instant flight from any spot. 

“Oh, Martha, desist, I beg you,” cried Ulrica. 

At that moment Dorothy, but partly dressed, passed 
the open door, chasing her kitten. 

“Mercy, look at that shameless child,” cried Martha, 
raising both hands in horror. “You nasty little crit- 
ter, shame on you; go git your clothes on this minit. 


60 CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


When I was your age I wouldn’t let nobody see me 
’thout my dress on.” 

“You’d better make me,” was the pert reply, and 
with a sly smile Dorothy ran to me and held to my 
skirts. Martha’s sharp eves were aglitter with ra^e, 
but she made no attempt to rebuke the child. Presently 
I followed Martha and Ulrica to the garden. Oh, how 
I longed to take my sister’s place in that household just 
long enough to have one battle with that domineering, 
hard-visaged creature. 

When I found myself alone with Ulrica during the 
afternoon, I asked her why she did not show some 
spirit. 

“I could never stoop to quarrel with anyone, Olive,” 
she answered, a strange, proud light in her eyes. 

“From whence do you draw your stock of patience, 
Ulrica?” I asked, a little testily, for it angered me to 
see her so imposed upon. 

“From my eternal hope,” she answered, softly. The 
radiant light that suddenly illuminated her face, to- 
gether with those words, silenced me. 

A little later, as she was arranging her beautiful 
wavy hair, Martha said, disagreeably; “Foolin’ again, 
Ricky, with that frowsy head of yourn. Why can’t 
you comb your hair smooth like mine, as a decent 
woman out to do ?” 

And with such remarks, always insulting, directed 
toward one or the other of us. the narrow-souled crea- 
ture passed the time away. To all Ulrica returned a 
soft answer. Dorothy was soundly scolded, and time 
and again commanded to be quiet, to which the child 
paid not the least attention. How sweet the sound of 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


61 


childish laughter and the patter of little feet seemed 
to me, who had so longed to hear them in my own 
childless home. 

How I longed that day for Martha to leave us, but 
such was not her intention, as she informed us that 
she meant to stay till John Markus came home if it 
was midnight, an’ tell him just how things was agoin’ 
on. “It’s my duty to do it, as a Christian woman,” she 
declared. Mark had gone away long- before the noon 
hour and was not expected, back until late. 

An unfortunate, or 'shall I say fortunate, oversight 
of Ulrica’s brought matters to a crisis that night. She 
had neglected to lock her trunk, as usual, and Martha, 
prying through the house, did not permit its contents 
to escape her busy fingers. Ulrica had just finished her 
evening work in the kitchen and stepped into the ad- 
joining room, when Martha held up to our view a 
panel picture on which was painted the loveliest cluster 
of blood red roses imaginable, a dainty Cupid poised- 
among them, ready to send his dart of love straight 
3t the centermost one. It was exquisitely wrought, all 
finished save the shading of one rose. Martha’s face 
was a sight to behold as she looked at Ulrica and fairly 
hissing- out the words : “You onrespectable hussy, a 
v.^astin’ of time an’ monev a paintin’ naked voting ones. 
Decent folks don’t have the like of this in their houses, 
tho’ thev may in the kind you come from. You low, 
fallen critter, do you ’spose I don’t know what kind of 
a nlace John Markus took you from?” Fairlv chokinr»- 
with rage, she tore the canvas through the center and 
trampled the fragments under foot. 

Ulrica sprang forward with face so white, with such 


62 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


a terrible flame of anger in her great black eyes that I 
was alarmed and could only stand and stare at her. I 
had never seen my sister angry before. It was a revela- 
tion to me, for it was as though long pent up hatred 
had concentrated into one mighty force and now 
threatened to burst forth, bringing devastation, ruin, 
and even death to the object against which it was di- 
rected. As I still gazed, fascinated, horrified, she 
]:)aused and stood quite still and fought with that demon 
of rage. Oh, it was a desperate struggle, for even I 
felt the wrenching strain of it with a keen pain. Then 
I saw the anger gradually die out of her eyes, and a 
look of triumph take its place — a triumph so great, so 
glad, so holy, that I marveled still more. She looked 
up for one brief moment, and when her eyes again 
rested on Martha there w'as a great pity showing in 
their luminous depths. When she spoke her voice was 
soft with infinite pity as she said : 

^‘Poor, benighted, ignorant creature, I pitv vou, 
Martha,” softly these w^ords of the blessed Saviour 
came to me as I looked upon her face: “Verily, he that 
ruleth his spirit is greater than he that taketh a citv.” 

Meanwhile Martha had stood open-mouthed and 
silent. I even detected a swift look of fear in her glit- 
tering eyes. Mark returned at this moment in time to 
hear Ulrica’s words, and oh, shame that I should tell 
it, stenped up quickly and gave her a stinging blow on 
the fair cheek. 

“How dare you call my sister ignorant?” he said, 
cruelly. Ulrica looked at him for a moment, her face 
all aquiver with an expression T could not define, and 
then turning to me, cried : “Oh, Olive, I am so glad, so 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


63 


glad.” And she hid her face on my shoulder to con- 
ceal the tears which I knew for some reasons were 
happy ones. 

“I am going down to old man Herman’s to make 
that sale and may not be back till to-morrow,” next 
said Mark, gruffly. 

Without further words he and Martha went out to- 
gether, she giving Ulrica a malignant glance as she 
passed us. Aye, poor benighted creature indeed. 


CHAPTER VI 


FLIGHT. 

“We journey through lowland shadows, 

Through the dull, dull mist and the rain; 

Oh, chilling the fog of the marshes 
And the winds from the lonely plain.” 

;f: * 

“But a something speaks within us, 

‘Look away from the spade and the clod, 

O Soul, look up for thy birthright, 

And away to the hills of God.’ ” 

I was dumb with amazement at the unaccountable 
manner in which Ulrica received the debasing insult. 
Still more was I mystified as I looked upon her face, 
for it was radiant as with a new-found joy. There 
was a glad ring in her voice as she cried, “Now that 
I am free, Olive^ it does not shame me to tell you 
some things.” 

“Free from what, Ulrica?” I asked in surprise. 

“Free from this horrible bondage which the law 
calls marriage,” she answered. “A bondage more ter- 
rible, more degrading than any boughten slave ever 
endured. For I truly, believe that the worst form of 
slavery imaginable is to be an unloving wife. That 
I have been from the first. But at last I have risen 
triumphant above the petty prejudice which causes 
one to shrink from the world’s censure; that censure 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


65 


which falls so heavily and oftimes so unjustly upon a 
deserting wife.’’ 

“What will you do, Ulrica?” I asked, though fear- 
ing her answer. 

‘T shall leave Mark Warren,” she answered firmly. 
For one wild moment I longed to uphold her in her 
determination to desert her husband. But I put the 
thought from me, for, however heavy the cross, she 
must bear it if she would win the crown. 

“No, no, Ulrica,” I expostulated. “Anything but 
that. You must endure to the end.” 

“Nay, Olive,” she answered. “You are altogether 
wrong, and your views are indeed narrow and con- 
tracted upon this subject, this most important sub- 
ject in woman’s life. Even you, Olive, believe that 
the human body is the temple of the living God, yet 
you would defile it because the law made by man 
sanctions relations which are hallowed alone by love, 
a love which no man’s law can enforce. In fact, Olive, 
she added, “I shrink from marriage and all it implies, 
with deepest loathing.’’ 

Again that look of horror grew in her eyes as she 
cried wildly : “Oh, if you could but know how I have 
degraded both body and soul for a mistaken 
idea, the false idea that it were better to be called wife 
than — something else. Listen to me, Olive,” she 
continued, “while I tell you the story of my fall.” 

“You see I was sold into slavery, for Mark Warren 
bought me, yes, bought me from Mrs. Durkin. 
Amongst all the bidders he paid the highest price, 
and I in a weak moment, thought it best to become 
his wife. I was in his power and completely helpless. 


66 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


When the opportunity to save my honor (in the eyes 
of the world) was ofifered me, I grasped it and — fell. 
Oh, who can know to what depths of degradation.” 
She covered her white face with trembling hands, 
completely overcome by bitter reflections. 

“But you did right, Ulrica,” I cried, “quite right.” 

“No, a thousand times no,” she exclaimed bitterly. 
“Had I chosen the alternative, I should have known 
myself blameless. I should have known that it was 
circumstances alone which had mastered the flesh, 
but could not master the spirit.” 

“Listen, let me tell it all,” she said, as I was about 
to interrupt her. “When the time arrived that I 
might have received help, I was too weak to ask for 
it. My promise was already given, and rather than 
break that promise. Oh, foolish idea of honor, I de- 
liberately gave myself to this man from whom, as a 
husband, I shrank with a frightful loathing. Even 
then had I been brave enough to cast off this yoke 
of bondage at the first opportunity, I might have still 
held myself almost spotless. But, no, I have permit- 
ted this horror to drag me down, day after day, 
for six long years, knowing that I was sinning 
against myself and my God. Think, too, she went 
on, of the years in which my labor might have en- 
lightened the woes of poverty for some poor person. 
Six long years have I been laboring in vain, for 
Mark Warren had rather see his hoarded wealth go 
up in smoke than use ever so small a portion to aid 
a fellow creature.” 

“Yes,” she added, “six long years have passed 
away, in which I have made no progress, but instead 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


67 


have fallen backward, backward, always backward. 
Oh, the thought is maddening/’ 

I was mute before the unutterable pain in her white 
face and the shrinking horror in her eyes as she 
turned them upon me. My own marriage had been 
such a happy one, I was incapable of realizing, except 
dimly, her position, but even with that dimness of 
realization, I shuddered inwardly. 

“Olive,” she presently continued, “with that blow 
he gave me tonight were broken the fetters that 
bound me. With that blow I seemed to wake to the 
full knowledge of my life’s duties ; those duties do not 
lie beneath his roof.” 

But the old prejudices^still weighed heavily upon 
me, and I cried : “Ulrica, I cannot bear to think of 
you as a runaway wife. Is there no alternative?” 

“None,” she answered firmly. I went to her, and 
taking both her hands said earnestly, “I cannot give 
my consent to this step you are contemplating, al- 
though I know your position is a terrible one at pres- 
ent, but—” 

“Then we will speak of it no more tonight,” she 
interrupted, placing her hands on my lips playfully. 

So she left me. I mused long upon the occur- 
rences of the day, and my pillow was besprinkled 
plenteously with tears ere I slept. Bitter indeed were 
my reflections, though I but partly realized what my 
poor sister’s life had been during those long weary 
years. Well I knew there was but one remedy and to 
me that seemed a terrible one. Though now, after 
the lapse of many years, I am convinced that my 
views were indeed narrow and contracted. 


68 CLIMBING THE HEIGHfl:5. 


I was awakened the following morning at daybreak 
by the soiind of heavy footsteps in the kitchen. I 
made my toilet hastily, intending to assist Ulrica with 
the morning work. As I stepped to the door, I spied 
a sheet of note paper, which had evidently been 
slipped beneath, and picking it up read: 

“Olive, dear, forgive me for leaving you in this 
manner but I know you will not willingly go with me 
tonight; so Dorothy and I go alone. I will commun- 
icate with you soon, knowing that you will return to 
y6ur home in Richmond. In haste, lovingly, Ulrica.” 

To say that I was shocked would but- faintly ex- 
press my feelings. Not for a moment had I enter- 
tained the idea that she would act so promptly. I 
had planned to use my influence to the utmost limit 
toward reconciling her to her lot, and perhaps even 
bringing Mark to view matters in a different light. 

Yet as I stepped into the bare, cheerless kitchen 
and thought of the many weary mornings she had 
toiled there, a thrill of gladness stirred my heart that 
she had escaped its dreary confines. I prepared 
breakfast as best I could for the waiting men; though 
no questions were asked I knew that they were aware 
of Ulrica’s flight. After the meal was finished, one of 
the men, James Bradshaw remained. When I looked 
inquiringly at him he said, ‘T helped her away, 
ma’am, she went to your place in Richmond.” 

“You should not have done so,” I said severely. 
“I fear she has been too hasty in this unfortunate af- 
fair. Had I known in time to prevent her she should 
not have gone, at least not yet.” 

“Xbat’s what she told me, ma’am,” he answered. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


69 


'‘but if you’d aknown what she’s put up with from 
Marie Warren and that she — devil of a sister of his’n 
you’d a made her go yourself.’’ 

“The likes of him aint fittin for her, no way. He's 
a hard man, and she’d best keep out of his way, for 
there’s no tellin what he might do,” he concluded, 
shaking his head ruefully. 

With these most cheering words, James went awav 
to the fields and I was left quite alone. 

Near the noon hour I saw both Mark and Martha 
dismounting at the gate and I braced myself for what 
was to come. No doubt the latter had returned for 
the joyous purpose of gloating over my sister’s sup- 
posed discomfiture of the previous evening. Mark 
came in and passed me without a word, but failing to 
find Ulrica in her accustomed place in the kitchen, 
asked for her. 

For answer, I handed him the note she had left me. 
If ever I saw surprise and consternation written on 
man’s face, I saw it then. But soon these emotions 
gave place to unholy anger that swayed him, as a hur- 
ricane a time-worn oak. 

Ignoble creature that he was, he sought to throw 
the blame which rightfully rested upon himself, upon 
another. His voice was hoarse with passion as he 
turned to me with : 

“You are to blame for this; you have persuaded 
her into taking this step. You’ll rue it and so shall 
she.” 

Coming menacingly toward me with uplifted hand, 
as if registering a vow on high, he cried : “Look you 


70 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


here, and learn that I am no man to be trifled with. 
She shall return to me or I will take her life.’’ 

I saw that in his eye which caused me to shrink 
away from, from him. 

“Sir,’’ I cried at length, my own anger rising at the 
unjust accusation, “much as I detest you for your un- 
manly conduct of last night, I would have sought to 
keep my sister from taking this step, had' I known it 
in time. No words can describe my utter detestation 
of both you and your sister,” I added vehemently, 
“and it was a most unhappy day for Ulrica when she 
fell into your power.” 

Meanwhile Martha had been standing in open- 
mouthed astonishment, for once speechless. Finding 
her voice at last, she began to bewail the disgrace 
which Ulrica had brought upon them. 

“I always know’d she’d ruin our good name, John 
Markus afore you’d done with her. The likes of her 
wasn’t fit to bear an honest name, nohow.” 

At sound of her voice he turned round sharply and 
pointed to the door saying: “Curse you, it is you 
who has caused her to desert me. I see it all now. 
Never while life lasts dare to enter my door again.” 

She made no move, no doubt motionless with sur- 
prise. He caught her roughly by the arm and pushed 
her through the doorway. She was in a towering 
rage as she still stood at the open door, screeching 
like one demented. 

“John Markus, you’ll regret this afore the sun sets 
if you don’t take it back. Ask me to come in, I say. 
Ask me to come in,” stamping her foot on the door-sill 
in ungovernable fury. 


71 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


For answer he slammed the door in her face. De- 
spite the deplorable situation, I could not restrain a 
smile of amusement at her utter discomfiture, and no 
doubt this had increased her anger. 

But if Mark Warren thought to be rid of her so 
easily he ^as mistaken. Before he had time to utter 
another word, she bounced into the kitchen and we 
heard her begin to lay the fire, in order to prepare the 
noon-day meal. Her loving brother stepped into the 
room and I followed for I was minded to see this bat- 
tle to a finish. It was difficult to guess which would 
be victorious. She had ruled him almost completely 
for forty years, for they had been orphans at an early 
age, and I did not believe he could throw off the yoke 
in a moment’s time. He stood and looked at her, 
all the evil passions of his nature gathering and gain- 
ing force. She broke the silence first, saying : 
“John Markus, you know dinners got to be had, or 
them men’ll lose time an I’m goin’ to git it, there 
now.” 

I verily believe that had the whole world fallen into 
space, save that one farm, she would still have deemed 
it necessary for all hands to labor diligently. 

Mark went quite close to her and cried menacingly, 
“Woman, dare to touch another object that she has 
had her hands on, and I shall use violence in ejecting 
you from this house. Now go!” 

James was at the door, enjoying this scene im- 
mensely, and she appealed to him for protection, 
which caused him to smile broadly. 

“I just won’t budge an inch till I’ve cooked dinner, 


72 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


John Markus,” she made answer and turned again to 
the stove. 

Without more ado Mark gave her a blow on the 
head and pitched her into the yard saying, "‘Here, 
James, drag her off.” 

I ran to the window and looking out saw James and 
one of the other men hurrying her out to her hofse,^ 
whilst she clawed and fought at them madly. The 
absurdity of the scene, forced a laugh from me and 
she turned and shook her clenched hand at me men- 
acingly. Was she yet vanquished? Time would tell. 

‘T wish to return home this evening,’’ I said turn- 
ing to Mark, but he did not hear me for he sat with 
his face buried in his hands, the very picture of des- 
pair. But I could not pity him when I realized what 
Ulrica’s life must have been with the treatment she 
had received from these twain. Presently he rose and 
striding up and down the room said brokenly, ‘T am 
ruined, utterly ruined.” 

It begun to dawn upon me that he loved Ulrica in 
his own fashion, narrow, selfish and miserable fashion 
though it was. Yet I did not pity him. 

‘T have it,” he exclaimed, stopping in front of me, 
‘T’ll take the child and she will follow it, no fear.” 

“Perhaps she might reconsider her decision if you 
would agree to make it more pleasant for her and 
treat her as a wife instead of making a slave of her,” I 
said sharply. 

“Why I’ve treated her right,” he said, in angry sur- 
prise, “and no one dares say otherwise.” 

“But you do not understand my sister, “I protested. 
“It is not her nature to be happy with such surround- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


73 


ings. She loves peace. Strife and contention such 
as is practiced in your household are foreign to her. 
Besides/’ I added, “she is not physically able to do 
the labor of two stout women such as you need here.” 

“She never complained,” he replied doggedly, “and 
besides, what is a wife good for if she can’t keep 
things up. I can’t make an ornament of her. She’s 
perfectly able to do the little work there is here. 
Work hurts no one. There’s my sister, curse her! 
she is more than twice LTlrica’s age and works harder 
than she ever did.” 

How utterly incapable he was of realizing the vast 
depths of Ulrica’s nature. He even accused her, 
though in a mild way, of idleness. She, whose every 
moment had been so full of helpful toil for others. 
She who had so often declared that the days were all 
too short for the accomplishment of her self-imposed 
tasks. 

My anger grew apace as I listened to his words. 

“Do you think an oak tree and a tender vine are 
equal in strength?” I said. “They each have their 
use in the world. There is just this difference be- 
tween my sister and yours.” 

“Bah! What are your vines and blossoms and or- 
naments good for,” he exclaimed contemptuously. 
“Nothing! Their places had much better be occupied 
be plain, useful things.” 

“You are wrong there,” I answered. “Do not the 
most useful vegetables, the most healthful fruit trees, 
the heaviest grain, first beautify themselves with 
leaves and blossoms that they may become the more 
useful in the end? One does not need to make life all 


74 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


unlovely in order to make it useful. So,” I continued, 
“There are blossoms in the human race capable of 
gladdening the senses of those possessing the soul to 
appreciate them. And if the chilling winds and bit- 
ing frosts from frozen hearts do not blast the tender 
buds they are capable of bearing the most luscious 
fruits.” 

“And so I suppose you think Ulrica is one of these 
human blossoms,” he said laughing deridingly. “Ha, 
ha! this is something new.” 

“She is no mate for you,” I cried angrily. 

“She’s not if she don’t work and put up with what 
I can give her,” he answered sullenly. “What more 
could any reasonable woman want than a good home 
such as she had here,” looking around the comfort- 
less room in evident admiration. “Besides,” he add- 
ed, “I think she ought to be thankful to me for taking 
her as I did, knowing to what she might have come.” 

So choked with anger was I, that I could not 
speak, at this allusion to his mean and contemptible 
conduct in forcing my poor sister into marriage with 
him. And he had the assurance to speak as if he had 
done a generous act. Indeed it was the very force 
of my anger that controlled me, for I stood white, 
speechless and immovable, bound into silence by a 
heavy chain whose iron links were hatred and con- 
tempt. And Ulrica had passed six long years with 
perhaps many such insults oflered her and still she 
had never lowered herself by giving way to anger, 
whilst she had had ten thousand times more provo- 
cation than had I. I had passed but two days here 
and spoken more angry words than I cared to recall. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


75 


The power which upheld her must be great indeed, 
greater than any I had ever known. I did not wonder 
that she had reached the limit of endurance now that 
I knew her life partner so well. I decided then and 
there that I would not insist upon her taking up the 
ties which were so galling. The best years of her life 
yet lay before her. Why should her lot not be cast 
in more pleasant places? She so lovable, so true? I 
was indeed filled with a great gladness that she had 
escaped into the sunshine of life once more. 

Mark had been silent some time, thinking deeply 
with a cruel light in his eyes, and suddenly starting 
up left the house. Hastily springing upon his horse 
which was still standing at the gate, he turned its 
head toward the village, when up bobbed Martha 
from behind a clump of bushes by the roadside. The 
sudden apparition frightened the animal and caused 
it to spring to one side so quickly that Mark, unpre- 
pared for the move, was thrown violently to the 
ground. He tried to rise but fell back groaning. As 
I ran to him he shook his clenched hand at Martha 
and made a vain effort to reach her. 

“Ten thousand curses upon you,’’ he cried, sav- 
agely. 

James and the other men saw the accident and hur- 
ried to the spot. They carried him into the house, 
for his ankle was found to be so severely fractured 
that he could not walk a step. A surgeon was sent 
for and Martha, although truly deploring the acci- 
dent, stayed. She was the victor for the time being. 
Despite repeated commands to leave the premises she 
stayed and cooked the dinner. True it was somewhat 


76 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


past the usual hour, but it was prepared nevertheless. 
Mark sulkily refused my proffered services, when I 
sought to allay the painfulness of his wounded ankle. 

‘T detest the very sight of you,” he cried angrily, 
and told James to take me to the village as soon as he 
could make preparations. 

It was thus my visit terminated, and little did I 
dream of how and when I would look upon the face 
of Mark Warren again. 


CHAPTER VIL 


“Within the silent rock exist, 

A billion yearning lives, 

Man is a petty egotist 

To think he only strives — 

To think he only struggles up 
To God, through toil and pain ; 
He is but one drop in a cup 
Filled from the mighty main. 

The flowers have tender little souls 
That love, repine, aspire 
Each star that on its orbit rolls 
Feels infinite desire. 

The diamond longs to scintillate 
When hid beneath the sod. 

The universe is animate 

With consciousness of God.” 


I arrived in Richmond safely, and had scarcely been 
in my little home an hour when my sister made her ap- 
pearance. She had engaged rooms near by and await- 
ed my coming. 

“Now, Olive,” she cried, “you are angry because I 
did not ask your advice.” 

After returning her kisses I answered, “I was very 
much put out at first, dear, but before the day was done 
I knew it was all for the best and I am very glad now.” 


78 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


I proceeded to narrate the occurrence of the day after 
her departure. She listened in silence. 

“Ulrica, you have no regrets, not one?” I asked, 
searching her face for some sign of tenderness for the 
deserted husband. 

“Yes,” she answered, “I am filled with a terrible re- 
gret, for ever must I abhor that part of my life that 
has been so cruelly wasted. Ever must I carry with 
me the knowledge that I was deliberately alienating 
myself from God. For, as I told you before, Olive, 
mv eves were open to the sin I was committing, but 
why I remained I can scarcely explain to myself, un- 
less it were that I shrank from again facing the world 
and also that foolish prejudice I held against the sepa- 
ration of man and wife. It was indeed weak in me, 
and this regret I feel is my just punishment, so I can 
cheerfully endure it.” 

I informed her of Mark Warren’s threat that he 
would take her life if she did not return to him ; also 
that he had employed James Bradshaw to carry little 
Dorothy back to him, for James had journeyed to 
Richmond supposedly bent on that errand. 

“James will never do it,” she declared ; “not if Mark 
Warren should lay all his useless hoarded wealth be- 
fore him as a gift for the deed. But the threat will be 
fulfilled, Olive,” she added. “It may be but a short 
time and it may be many years, but it will be fulfilled.” 

I gazed at her in horror and she smiled a little sadly 
as she said: “Do not be so alarmed, dear. We must 
put the evil day as far from us as possible and keep in 
hiding.” 

From that moment a terrible fear that Mark Warren 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


79 


would make good his word fell upon me. James 
Bradshaw came to us and warned us to beware of him, 
which but added to the heaviness of my fear. But my 
sister spoke no more of this man who had constituted 
himself her judge. James wrote to his employer as- 
suring him that he was but waiting a chance to take 
the little one from her mother, and so we had ample 
time to disappear. 

I reasoned and to good purpose, as it subsequently 
proved, that should we but change our residence to 
some other part of the city we would be more securely 
hidden. No doubt Mark Warren would look in Rich- 
mond but once, and that not thoroughly believing that 
we had removed to some distant place. Thus he and 
his hirelings would search the continent over and 
never look in the right spot. For no doubt he h^d gold 
that could flow like water with which to persecute her, 
but none to make her life more pleasant or to aid a 
fellow creature in distress. So great was my fear of 
him that I insisted upon changing our names, but my 
sister would not. 

So it was that I gave up my friends and neighbors, 
disposed of my cottage and disappeared, retaining 
nothing connected with those six hapnv years of my 
life save the piano which had been the wedding present 
of the congregation where Ernest was so lately the 
beloved pastor. We found a small nest-like cottage 
almost hidden midst the foliage of numerous shade 
trees, clinging vines and tall flowering shrubs. Truly 
a beautiful spot in the world’s garden where we were 
secretly veiled from prying eyes, with but the birds 
and blossoms for companions. We made no acquain- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


SO 


tances at first through fear of being traced to our se- 
cluded retreat. 

As I watched the color come back to my darling’s 
fast rounding cheek and saw the light of happiness 
and peace resting in her deep eyes once more, I too 
was almost happy. Scarcely had I a thought that 
did not in some way include her, and I loved her even 
as I had, when she was a helpless unhappy child. 
She insisted upon finding employment as soon as we 
were fairly settled. Though my income was scarcely 
sufficient to keep us in comfort, I protested so vigor- 
ously against her doing so, for a time at least that she 
gave way to my wishes. For a few days, a very few 
days, I had her all to mySelf.- Those few happy days 
were before the tempter came into our garden of Eden 
and took the place I occupied in my darling’s heart 
for never was sister’s love more true and endearing 
than ours. 

Scarce a forthnight had we been in our new home 
when we ventured out so merrily one dewey morn to 
pass a day in the woods. Contentedly I sat and 
watched my sister and her child as they enjoyed the 
delights of the summer day together. She had a touch 
of the Bohemian in her nature which would assert 
itself at times despite her deep thoughtfulness. Truly 
it did not lie dormant on that day. A stranger observ- 
ing her face for the first time would have dreamed 
it impossible that any sorrow ever cast its shadow over 
he^. so deeo was the joyful light in the dreamy eves, 
so tender the smile on the sweet curved lips, at one time 
nuieting Dorothy’s chatter with a smiling glance and 
listening to the murmur of the little brook that danced. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


81 


so joyfully over its rocky bed. At another time paus- 
ing to watch the majestic cloud ships sail across the 
azure sky; at still another time listening to the clear 
ringing note of a wild bird as it skimmed across the 
grassy flower bedecked slopes or perched among the 
fluttering foliage overhead; and yet again running 
her fingers through the cool velvety grass as though the 
very touch thrilled her with delight. And when she 
came swiftly to me with a loving caress and self ac- 
cusing words saying that she was selfish in her own 
joy of her blessed freedom, whilst my loss was still 
so new, I kissed the bright tears of sympathy away ere 
they could fall assuring her that I was most content 
and happy. 

And at that moment I felt that she had been given 
me again instead of the lost one and I was indeed al- 
most content. I had her all to myself. The last day 
that I ever felt she held me dearer than any other 
save her child, and the events of that day are still as^ 
vivid in my memory as though it were but yesterday. 
I knew that henceforth my life would be but the echo 
of her own and if any sorrow I had, it must come 
through her for my life’s story had been told and I 
even fancied that it was so with her, she who yet stood 
on the very threshold of womanhood, she whose heart 
had never been awakened by the magic wand of love, 
that magic wand which touches some so rudely that 
they scarce can tell if It bring more of joy or more 
of pain. And so it was that my sister’s life all lav be- 
fore her. All that had been was but as a prelude to 
what was to be. 

Little Dorothy came dancing up to us and with 


82 CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


chubby arms clasping her mother’s neck cried, “Oh, 
mamma, why wasn’t we always this happy?” 

“Never mind darling, why, but we are to be always 
happy in the future,” her mother assured her, little 
wotting what that future held in store for herself. 

“You speak truly, dear,” I said, “We could indeed 
be very happy if only you were brought into the fear 
of God. It is one thing wanting to make my peace 
of mind.” 

“Whom I fear, I cannot love,” she answered quicklv, 
while a deepl]" houghtful light kindled in her eyes, she 
continued, “Fear comes with darkness, and Oh, Olive, 
T fear naught save the darkness that is in my soul. 
Yet I feel, I know, that I have passed beyond that 
childish stage of the soul when fear of punishment 
holds me back from evil. ’Tis the love alone of the all 
Good which must pervade one’s whole being. ’Tis the 
love of all All Good which must throw its white light 
along the way. Tear from an outward source will cast 
i^s Hark shadow on the way and then our feet grow 
unsteady and we stumble, we shrink and fall because 
the light from within which must be kindled by love 
alone and is not sufficient to brighten the straight and 
narrow path. Be ye lamps unto yourselves. Believe 
me, Olive, fear and love do not go hand in hand, save 
with the weak and immatured mind. Sin must be con- 
qured by love, and not by fear.” 

“Surely I could not refute any of her statements, 
and so I listened in silence as she continued. 

“Justice must come with wisdom. You believe your 
heavenly father to be all wise, all merciful and yet 
on every side are examples of inhuman injustice ac- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


83 


cording to your conception of His ways. For instance, 
Olive, if you were blessed with two children and pos- 
sessed the power to give or withhold every blessing 
would you give to one a spirit brave to overcome all 
temptations, give to him the wherewithal! to enjoy the 
comforts of life, give to him the exquisite sensibilities 
to interpret the grand truths of nature, in fact give 
him all the powers to live an honorable and virtuous 
life and then reward him in the life to come for so 
doing? 

“And would you withhold all these blessings from 
the other, endowing him with evil propensities, a dark- 
ened intellect, a will too weak to cope successfully 
against the demon of passion lurking within him and 
if he fell then would you condemn him to ever lasting 
perdition for so doing? 

“Oh, Olive,’’ she cried, “God is no such respector 
of persons. I should blush with shame did I view my 
God from your standpoint, or do Him the injustice to 
believe he rules by such caprice. God rules by law 
which is the immutable law of nature. Your concep- 
tion of him is truly a terrible one. Is it for pastime 
and a desire to see suffering that He creates so many 
souls, filling them with wickedness and misery. He 
forseeing their end, knowing that there is not suf- 
ficient strength within them to save themselves?” 

“Think too, of the poor, tortured brutes, over which 
man is given dominion. If they are soulless wherein 
comes their reward for their sufferinp's? If death of 
the body ends all with them, wherein lies the scheme 
of justice in creation? 

“So if justice rules^ is there but one solution to 


84 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


these mysteries, and that it is gradual evolution 
from the lower to the higher order of life, through 
many earth lives. As I once told you, in this way only 
can each be judged according to his deeds, for when 
he transgresses the great law, the greatness of his 
punishment is in accordance with the greatness of his 
crime, and here on this sphere, do we reap as we sowi 
We see this form of justice carried out in our own com- 
paratively puny laws. Plainly we see the effect of our 
punishment, then must we know there has been a cause. 
These causes we have set up by our own acts there- 
fore justice, complete justice is meted out to us. In 
the woes of terrestrial life do we find retribution for 
our sins. All souls are sent out to earth to gain the 
knowledge of good and evil. Freely are we given to 
eat of the fruit of the tree of life. 

“How unjust was God, to reward one with peace 
that passeth understanding, because he is pure through 
ignorance of evil, as for instance, when a little child 
dies, having endured no earthly trials. Compare with 
its seemingly white soul, a poor besotted wretch who 
has drunk deeply of the woes of existance, battling 
unsuccessfully against his evil inclinations. After all, 
which is the more worthy of the reward of peace? 
Pure justice demands that each soul be fried by the 
fires of temptation to an equal degree at some time dur- 
ing its earthly sojourn. This were impossible, should 
each have but one earth life. 

If we are to become one with God we must possess 
a thorough knowledge of both good and evil. This 
we acquire by coming in contact with every phase of 
existance; else how could we discriminate between 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


85 


good and evil ? How could we root out the desires of 
the flesh which are created by ignorance and purify 
ourselves into a state of Godliness? God does not 
require the same thing of the weak and the foolish and 
the inexperienced, as He does of the strong, the wise 
and the experienced. Even man does not do that. 
Is God more unreasonable than man T* 

I could find no answer to her questions, but sat 
shrinking beneath the look of pity she bent upon me as 
she continued : — 

“And yet, with all the injustice of God’s rule, accord- 
ing to your conception of Him, you are willing to bow 
down to and worship Him. Talk about the dark ages, 
I think the most stygian darkness still exists in many 
souls. Why, Olive, she cried, “your faith is nothing 
but a mere prejudice. You are weighed down by fear 
and preconceived ideas. You believe what you have 
been taught. You do not seek to solve above the com- 
m.on plane. Without efifort we gain nothing of worth 
either in the spiritual or the material world. Just so 
long as people are content with such faith, mystery 
and darkness will be in the soul of man. 

“Why have we this restless inquiring spirit if not 
to find the cause of the objective world about us? 
Even the tiny lisping child wants to know why this, 
why that, and is ever seeking knowledge. Why should 
we reach a certain point and then cease to Donder upon 
this question as if our stock of wisdom were ever com- 
plete in this life, then blindly believe. Why your God 
does not even set us an example of the commonest hu- 
manity. He is so human like, that He becomes angry 
and yet giving way to anger is ignoble. He is so hu- 


86 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


man like, that He is revengeful, and yet revenge is also 

ignoble. He “Oh, my dear, hush,” I cried, “do 

not question His ways. Remember ‘My ways are not 
your ways, my thoughts are not your thoughts.^ ” 

“Just so,” she answered, “We must strive for knowl- 
edge in order to know His thoughts and ways, for in 
them is complete justice. But according to your light 
these words do not convey justice, for will not a lov- 
ing earthly parent explain the why and wherefore to 
his child that he may the more readily obey? ’Tis a 
species of cruel injustice to command one to obey blind- 
ly. This begets fear and rebellion which kills love. 

I reminded her that many had come to grief by delv- 
ing into things that were too high. 

“Np problem is too complicated for the human mind 
to solve, no object too high for the human mind to 
attain,” she quickly answered. “In every soul is the 
inherent quality of God like wisdom, which is slowly, 
painfully, but surely expanding throughout the ages. 
It rests with each to shorten this time to diminish this 
painfulness by casting off the desires of the flesh, and 
reaching out and up after the loftiest attainments. 
Knowledge gives us strength, something which no 
vicarious atonements will ever do. With this strength 
we can lift ourselves up into the light, we can 
become purified. Mind must conquer matter to the ex- 
clusion of all sin. It takes countless ages to complete 
this process, to bring these weak ignorant souls tp per- 
fection. Remember ‘Work out your own salvation.' ” 

“Oh, my dear,” I cried, “do you deny the need of 
repentance ?” 


CLIMBma THE HEIGHTS. 


87 


“If we do not repent,” she answered, “we do not 
cast off sinful desires, therefore true repentance is ab- 
solutely necessary to save us from future sin; but it 
does not obliterate past sinful acts. How is it possible 
that you believe your sins can be washed away by re- 
pentance when you are told ‘as ye sow, so shall ye 
reap’ ? We must pay the penalty of pain and sorrow 
for every sinful thought and act. It is the great and 
just law of the All Good. Thus do we become our own 
judges, our own jury. Shall we then condemn our- 
selves in order to grasp the small and petty joys of 
earthly triumphs?” 

“Ulrica,^’ I said, “it grieves me to hear you deny 
the teachings of the blessed bible, and — ” 

“Oh, Olive, I do not deny it’s teachings,” she an- 
swered, “that greatest of all books was written by 
men possessing wisdom that is almost lost to the 
world today. They forsaw the painful necessity of 
depicting God as a revengeful God in order to inspire 
fear in the minds of the ignorant and lowly, until they 
so far develop that of their own free will they cast 
off this fear, and love alone lifts them up to perfec- 
tion. The low and the ignorant need fear to keep 
them within the bounds or they would sink again to 
the level of the brutes, for they have not the moral 
strength to climb upward unless they fear to fall 
backward. A small or young mind can conceive of 
nothing save in an objective sense, hence the personal 
idea of God. So these minds must have for an ideal a 
God of superhuman power, against whom their brute 
force can not prevail. But as the mind expands, so 
does the conception of God, until we come to recog- 


88 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


nize His presence in all things, for *‘God is every- 
where/’ So it was that these great souls who pos- 
sessed this God-like wisdom, allowed their minds to 
pervades the whole universe with thoughts of love, 
and so placed these grand inspiring truths before 
them in a manner best calculated to uphold humanity 
in all stages of development. As we gradually de- 
velop we come into this light, and so place a different 
interpretation upon the World. Oh we need a higher 
conception of God,” she cried, ‘‘we must have it. We 
will have it, as we imbibe more of this knowledge.” 

“Olive,” she said suddenly, “have you not secretly 
questioned the ways of your God in the time of your ^ 
greatest distress?” 

I blushed with shame that it was so, before her 
questioning glance. 

“It is no shame to you that you have done so,” she 
said, “none but the most servile minds can refrain 
from thus questioning while they hold your views. 
And never yet have I heard that it calls forth a great 
amount of goodness or intellect to become a cringing 
slave.” 

“O Ulrica,” I cried, in dismay, “it is truly great to 
be an humble servant of the Lord.” 

“But how much greater to be the equal,” she quick- 
ly answered. 

I was silent from sheer amazement, and seeing the 
almost terrified expression on my face, she said earn- 
estly. “It is not false pride, Olive, but a worship so 
great fills my soul, a worship so vast in its reachings, 
only at rare intervals can my mind comprehend a 
faint glimmering of its object. But I will know in the 


89 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 

future ages, as I ascend higher and higher, nearer and 
nearer to this state of perfection. Through each suc- 
ceeding life, never succumbing to temptation, never 
giving way to evil. If I am strong enough to trample 
underfoot all desires of the flesh, each one that is 
overcome will bring me one step farther up the 
heights, and speed the time when I shall stand in the 
presence of my God, my God who is myself. For so 
it is that. each one is himself the object of his search. 
“Know thyself and all things are known to you.” 

.Her deep eyes were shining wdth a strange light 
of hope and worship, greater indeed that I had ever 
seen in any eyes before. For one wild moment I 
seemed to comprehend her meaning, and the bright- 
ness of that comprehension dazzled me even as the 
sunlight might the eyes of one long accustomed to 
stygian darkness. 

No wonder she has power to rule her spirit if she 
stands in that dazzling light, I whispered to myself. 
However, I put these new and strange thoughts from 
me, but ;they left their mark and though I cling 
desperately to : the God of my simple faith yet I am 
strangely restless, but this restlessness brings me in- 
definable joy with it. 

“But Ulrica,'^ I cried at length, hoping for I knew 
not what, “we must humble ourselves before God if 
we love Him.” 

Not possible was it for me to put away my idea of 
a personal God. 

“Nay,” she quickly answered, “great sduIs strive to 
become the equals of those they love. Remember, 
‘The Kingdom of Heaven is within you.’ ” 


90 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


Was there aught of egotism about this proud yet 
humble one? No! 

I knew it was quite useless to seek further to 
change her convictions. They had put grown and 
strengthened with the years. I knew her to be my 
superior, both in goodness and intellect. When had 
I ever heard her say a disparaging word of a fellow 
creature? All the miseries of her childhood and the 
still more crushing One of that enforced marriage, 
had failed to elicit one unkind word of her torment- 
ers. She seemed the very embodiment of love. Love 
was her creed. Whilst I — ah I scarcely dared com* 
pare myself with her, flying as I so often did, into 
fits of anger, quite unable to govern that most unruly 
member, the tongue; letting fall some bitter sarcasm 
which wounded and hardened hearts whose citadels 
might have been taken by patience and love. True, 
I repented, with bended knee and tear-wet eyes, yet 
I have come at last to believe that it is not repentance 
that lifts us up to God, but self mastery. If my sis- 
ter’s strange religion, so upheld her and led her into 
the narrow path, what had I to fear? I thus Calmed 
my misgivings which had almost diminished into 
nothingness. And the future struggles between mind 
and matter, which she underwent, proved too surely 
how great was her worship of her intangible God. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


“Love! It began with a glance, 

Grew with the glowing of flowers; 

Smiled in a dreamful trance, 

Recked not the passage of hours ; 

Our Passion’s flood rose ever, 

Flowing for her and me, 

Till the brook became a river 
And the river became a sea.” 

“Mamma, do come here,” called Dorothy, “there is 
the sweetest bunch of blossoms on the other side of 
the brook and I can’t get them.” 

My sister went to do the child’s bidding, and put 
out her hand to pluck the flowers. 

“Darling, I cannot reach them without stepping 
into the water,” she said. 

“Allow me, little stranger,” said a manly voice, 
while a hand reached out and deftlv plucked the 
coveted blossoms, and the owner of the hand and 
voice sprang lightly across the little brook and placed 
them in the child’s eager hands. Lifting his hat to 
my sister, with the grace of a courtier, he gave her a 
swift glance of admiration as she thanked him for the 
service. I felt an instinctive dislike creep into my 
heart for this man, as I saw her eyes droop beneath 
his gaze and a flush mount her white cheek, a flush 
such as no man’s glance had ever brought there be- 
fore. 


92 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


Tali and darkly handsome, he was, with close 
cropped curls, black as raven’s wing, a jetty mous- 
tache, shading a mouth whose contour denoted too 
surely a weak and selfish nature. Selfish even to 
cruelty. As he stood there, hat in hand, in all the 
pride and beauty of young manhood, with a winning 
smile and still more winning words. I mentally pro- 
nounced him detestable. He did not turn and go his 
way, he should have done, but paused to speak of 
the music of the woodland songsters, and many things 
of casual interest did this audacious stranger find to 
say. 

Meanwhile my sister stood in sweet, unstudied 
grace, red lipped and radiant eyes, listening to his 
melodious votce, the flush deepening on her cheek, a 
new shy light gathering in her downcast eyes. 

I doubt not that she felt in those first sweet mo- 
ments of dawning love, yes it was even so, that that 
small stretch of woodland, with its peaceful sights and 
sounds was but made for their meeting, that meeting 
which I even then deplored, that meeting which 
seemed accidental, but if such meetings are so, life 
itself is an accident, for from that moment the real 
story of her life began. 

As the stranger still lingered, seemingly with no 
intention of leaving us, I became indignant and call- 
ing, Dorothy prepared to depart. 

“Olive,” said my sister, “you know I love sunsets 
we will stay yet awhile.” 

I made no demur and the stranger stayed and 
watched the sunset also. And as the evening shad- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


93 


ows began to creep about us and little Dorothy de- 
clared herself too weary to walk home, he took her in 
his arms and carried her to our gate, no doubt well 
pleased at the opportunity of finding our residence so 
easily. 

And yet he lingered, loth to leave my sister with- 
out further words. As I turned away a moment in 
answer to Dorothy’s sleepy call, he said, “May I come 
again ?” 

I glanced at my sister, quickly, and saw with dis- 
may the flush his words brought to her cheek. He 
also read her answer, even as I had done, and lifting 
his hat to us, smilingly walked away. 

“Ulrica,” I said sharply as she still stood where he 
had left her, “you should have answered this stranger 
‘No,’ when he requested to call.” 

She made no reply and I sincerely hoped that we 
would see him no more. On the morrow she went 
about, as one in a dream with little dimpling smiles 
on her lips, with a new light in her eyes, with a new 
ring in her voice. As great a change had been 
wrought in her whole being, as one might find in a 
sun-kissed landscape that had but recently been in 
deepest shadow. As I read so truly the new joy that 
had come to her, my own heart grew heavy in pro- 
portion, and as the evening drew on apace, and I saw 
the light of anticipation in her eyes, and the little 
flushes that came and went on her cheek at thought 
of his coming, I made one more effort to stem the 
tide of this new found love. I felt with a terrible 
foreboding that it would be a disastrous love, that all 
was not well, with this stranger. As the hour grew 


94 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


later I sent her on an errand, hoping that she would 
be absent when he called and he would understand 
it as a tacit agreement that the acquaintance would 
not be prolonged. Thus I hoped to ward of! another 
meeting between them, poor weak creature that I 
was. Believing as I did that an all powerful hand 
governed by divine wisdom, shaped our course in life, 
yet I sought to completely change my sister’s fate, by 
one small maneuver. 

Between sunset and dusk he made his appearance ; 
more handsome and winning was he, if possible, than 
on the previous day. How strange that I should dis- 
like this man so thoroughly knowing nothing what- 
ever againt him. But I could ever discern deceit in 
any one at once, while my sister could but recognize 
the good. She believed every one true until they were 
proven false. Some there are who condmn this as 
stupidity but if so, it is a blessed fault. I received 
this man quite coldly, but he chose not to notice my 
unfriendliness, and even seemed to exert himself to 
win the good will of myself and little Dorothy. How- 
ever, the latter had already given him a royal wel- 
come. 

After a short time had elapsed and my sister did 
not appear, he inquired for her. 

“She is out,” I answered pointedly. 

Looking me full in the eye, he smiled and said, 
“Indeed?” 

From that moment my detestation for him in- 
creased. I knew that he read at a glance my hostile 
feelings in regard to the further acquaintance of him- 
self and my sister, and that he defied me to interfere. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


95 


As if suddenly remembering' that he had as yet* 
omitted to give us his name, he drew forth a visiting 
card and placed it in my hand. Thereon I read : 

^'Allen H. Sutherland, M. D.” 

There was no address, but at the time I scarcely 
noticed the omission. 

At that moment I heard my sister’s light footsteps 
coming through the hallway and when I looked up 
and saw her enter the room, a flush on her face, tliat 
was more beautiful than the western skies at sunset, 
when I saw that light in her eyes, that light which 
fiever yet shone on land or sea; when I saw the shy 
Confusion of her greeting, she who had ever been so 
Self contained, and dignified, I knew that no warning 
or expostulation of mine could avert harm from this 
source reaching her; if indeed there was such to 
come. But it angered me to see her surrender that 
most priceless treasure, her love, to a perfect strang- 
er, without question or struggle; and still more was. 
I angered and shamed that she did not seek to veil 
from his sight the unspoken feelings of her heart. , . 

But to one like her, subterfuges were unknown and 
I verily believe that from the first moment of that 
meeting she lost herself, as it were, and was as one 
but half conscious of passing events. 

After all,' what had I to fear? This man from all 
appearances, was a gentleman, or what the world 
called one, and I could form but one palpable excuse 
for forbidding his attentions to my sister. And when 
I reminded her later that she was still a wife, she 
answered: “The law shall free me; myself I do not 
recognise the tie.’’ 


96 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS 


So thus my principal objection was set aside. ■ ■ 
This man’s story of his past and present, seemed 
so plausible, so straight forward, his manner so al- 
together courteous and respectful, his every act and 
look bespeaking deep regard for her, nay, even more, 
they bespoke honest love, so the objection that he 
yet was a stranger, grew to seem a very lame one. 

I chided myself for my misgivings. Why shpuld 
not my darling know the joys of love, she who was 
so worthy, and why should I, with my strange doubts 
and fears, cast a shadow over her new found hope? 
Those thoughts and many more, ran swiftly through 
my mind, even during that first visit of Dr. Suther- 
land; and when he rose to take his leave T knew there 
was a tacit understanding that he was to corhe.again. 

Self condemnation has been my daily portion since 
I first beheld his handsome face. I who loved my 
sister with no common love permitted this man, with 
the tender voice and love lit eyes, to make himself 
supreme in her heart, whilst I observed all and' yet 
used no judgment ; for I never inquired from other 
sources, as to his social standing, or in fact if he had 
the right to offer her his attentions. 

Scarcely a day passed that he did not call at our 
cottage, and, so the long beautiful summer days were 
spent by my sister in a dream of bliss. Day by day 
her love but strengthened and grew upon her. A 
sweet contentment had found its home in her heart 
at last. A soft brooding light lay in the still depths of 
her downcast eyes. Happiness lay quiescent in the 
very droop of her heavy dark hair and the flush on 
her rounded cheek was most beautiful to -see:.:, 'No 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


97 


wild bird’s note could express one-half the music in 
her voice. Ah, truly, the master hand of love had 
swept the chords of her soul, setting them to sweetest 
music. Never had the fervent energies of her life 
been awakened before, and the vista of love had 
opened to her wondering sight, all the joys of which 
her deep nature was capable. And as these twain 
wandered down the flowery length of love’s lane, I, 
myself, was fascinated by the light in my sister’s face. 

Many were the times that Dorothy would recall me 
from my day dreams by asking, “Why I smiled so at 
Mamma? O those past summer days! I seem to 
feel their sweet mystic spell creeping over me even 
yet, when long sunny afternoons were spent in some 
flower bedecked woodland, while the birds sang and 
the south winds blew softly around us, bearing on its 
invisible wings the signs of that worse than wasted 
summer. But my sister heeded them not, for I doubt 
much if she saw aught in those days, except his face, 
or heard aught except his voice, and they never 
seemed to tire of looking into each other’s love-lit 
eyes. 

After all they were happy days, days to dream of 
ever after. When little Dorothy would chase the 
bright winged butterflies, and the sweet childish 
laughter would add to the music of the woodland, 
for soothingly soft came the chirp of the insects as 
they awakened in the cool of the day, when the sun 
dipped low in the western sky. All these sounds I 
seem to hear once more, as I muse on those long 
dead summer days. 

Yet I could not oust from my heart that haunting 


98 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


dread that all was not well with this stranger. How- 
ever, I strove to believe that my dislike for him 
sprang from the fact that he had made himself first 
in my sister’s heart. So I whispered not my doubts in 
her ears, and her love grew and thrived, with 
the greater luxuriance, upon his tender words and 
love speaking glances. 

Ofttimes in our wanderings we would tarry on the 
banks of that most beautiful river James. I would 
sit a little apart from my sister and Dr. Sutherland, 
and watch the quivering leaves overhead, making a 
fret work of light and shadow about them, and as I 
saw the still joy and peace of her face I was supremelv 
content. She had stepped aside from the turmoil of 
her past dreary life, and I must leave her undisturbed 
in her unalloyed bliss. 

Could this state of affairs have remained unaltered 
I should have blessed the one who brought it 
about. But only for a brief space are any permitted 
thus to rest by the wayside, for we must soon again 
shoulder our burdens and struggling, look beyond. 
Thus it was that, as the summer days drifted by, she 
sank deeper and deeper into this abyss that lay con- 
cealed by love’s bright hued blossoms, from her un- 
tried feet. She was forgetting all other things that 
had made her life so full. Indeed, so changed was she 
that I often marvelled and as I said before, she 
seemed to have lost herself, the power of self guid- 
ance seemed to have deserted her. I grew faint at 
heart when I thought of the possibility of any rupture 
taking place in the fulfillment of this great joy of her 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


99 


life. But hope tarried with me, and gained strength 
and I came to look upon her happiness as an assured 
thing. 


LofC. 


CHAPTER IX. 


^‘Life’s richest cup is loves to fill ; 

Who drinks if deep the draughts shall be, 

Knows all the rapture of the hill, 

Blent with the heart-break of the sea. 

Ah ! drooping wings that trail the ground ; 

Ah, sudden flights to worlds above ; 

Ah ! thorns that with the roses bound, 

About the brows of those who love.” 

The summer days merged into early autum when an 
incident occurred which awoke me to the fact that I 
too, had been dreaming. We were spending one after- 
noon in the same woodland where we had first met 
Dr. Sutherland, who was with us as usual, and he had 
just plucked a spray of scarlet blossoms, which he 
was fastening in my sister’s shining braids. Turning 
round on hearing approaching footsteps, the smile on 
his face suddenly gave place to an expression of startled 
fear. 

The cause of this disturbance was a very surprised 
looking young man in hunter’s garb, with a ^un slung 
across his shoulder. With observant eyes he took in 
the situation at a glance. 

“Why Edward, old fellow, this is a surprise,” he 
exclaimed. “I was not aware of your return to the 
city.” 


Climbing the heights. 


101 


“I have not been away,” answered Dr. Sutherland 
in an annoyed tone. 

“Oh, then you have been in hiding,” said the other, 
with an amused laugh. “This will never do. Where 
are you stopping?” 

Dr. Sutherland hesitated a moment and then named 
a number and street in a scarcely audible voice, while 
he was seemingly more and more annoyed. Still he 
made no mention of our presence. 

The young man glanced at my sister, who had moved 
away a short distance, and was watching little Dorothy 
in her efforts to build a bridge across the brook that 
danced over its rocky bed at her feet. I was confident 
that she did not heed their words, but I had heard and 
understood their import. As the young man turned 
again to Dr. Sutherland he gave him a significant 
glance and smiled. At this Dr. Sutherland’s annoy- 
ance changed to anger, which his countenance plainly 
depicted. This but caused, the other to smile the more. 
I knew that something was wrong, very wrong, and I 
was assured that this man had been deceiving us. Why 
his friend even addressed him by another name than 
he had given us. 

The young man still smiling said, “I shall expect 
to see you to-morrow morning, Edward,” and lifting 
his hat as he passed my sister, said some slight words 
to the child and disappeared amid the undergrowth on 
the opposite side of the brook. 

Dr. Sutherland suddenly glanced at me and a guilty 
flush overspread his features, as he found me observ- 
ing him closely. But in another moment he was his 


102 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


smiling self again. A born dissembler, I told myseli 
with a trembling fear at my heart. 

“Who is your friend?’’ I asked, looking him full in 
the face. 

Returning my look calmly, he answered lightly, 
“Only a college chum.” 

“I said no more, but was terribly disturbed. Why 
should there be any secrecy in his attentions to my sis- 
ter? Why should he keep his whereabouts unknown 
to his friends? My eyes began to open to the fact 
that Dr. Sutherland never proposed taking us where we 
were likely to meet any acquaintances. Our excursions 
had always been to some sequestered nook, where none 
of the city’s elite eared to go, and that he was one of 
them I never doubted from the moment I first beheld 
him. 

“Oh yes, something was terribly \\rong, and I was 
mined to demand a solution of the mystery at once, 
but when he turned to where my sister was standing, 
and I saw again the flush that ever leapt to cheek and 
brow at his approach, the questions which I believed 
would unmask him died on my lips. However, I de- 
cided at once that I would make inquiries on the mor- 
row, in regard to Dr. Sutherland. 

And so it was that I held my peace yet awhile, hop- 
ing against hope, that all was well. The following 
morning I went directly to the address which Dr. 
Sutherland had given his friend, as his place of resi- 
dence. I found a pretentious boarding house in a fash- 
ionable quarter of the city. I was shown the parlor 
and when the landlady made her appearance I inquired 
if Dr. Sutherland was in. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


103 


She answered in some surprise, “There is no one 
by that name stopping with me. Dr. Ashley is the 
only physician among my boarders.” 

“Perhaps you are acquainted with Dr. Sutherland, 
madam,” I said. 

Searching her memory a few moments she replied, 
“No, I have no recollection of such a person.” 

I arose to take my leave with what calmness I could 
command. I was now confident that this man had gone 
under an assumed name. No doubt this Dr. Ashley was 
he. As I was passing through the hall I came face to 
face with the young man whom we had met in the 
woodland, the previous day. He did not recognize me, 
and I at once took advantage of the circumstance. 

“Excuse me, sir,” I said carelessly, “is your friend 
Dr. Sutherland in at present?” 

“I have no friend by that name,” he answered, bow- 
ing politely. 

Here was confirmation of my worst fears. In a 
voice filled with indignation, which I could not sup- 
press, I cried, “Who is he them? You know to whom 
I refer.” 

Looking fixedly at me a moment, he seemed to re- 
call the encounter of the previous day, smiled and said, 
“Ah! perhaps I am not at liberty to say.” 

“Thank you, sir,” I said cuttingly, “for your most 
manly conduct,” and I departed with anp-er and fear 
in my heart. 

Before my mental vision, rose my sister's face, her 
happy face, with that indescribable light of peace and 
untold joy resting upon it. And then another picture 
took it’s place. Again it was her face, but ah! the 


104 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


light was all stricken from it, all the peace and joy fled. 
Were words of mine to bring about this change? I 
who loved her so. I who so longed to save her pain ? 
But my duty lay plain before me, and I shrank from 
performing that duty even as I might shrink from deal- 
ing my loved one a death blow. 

As I came into her presence, the words I had framed 
to utter, once more died on my lips. 

“I will see him first and demand an explanation,” I 
decided that would surely be the best course to pursue, 
but when he came that evening the opportunity to speak 
alone with him did not present itself. I lulled my 
conscience to rest by again assuring myself that the 
m.orrow should settle all doubts. 

But on the morrow we passed the afternoon by the 
river, as we had so often done before. Still a faint 
hope lay in my heart that there might be some mistake, 
but when I reflected that he had never mentioned a 
honorable termination of this aflfair to my sister, I 
was sorely troubled. I doubted much if he had ever 
spoken of love to her, but what need of words to as- 
sure her of his love, when he so often took her un- 
resisting hands and held them close, while they two 
watched the sunny waters of the tranquil river, in 
wrapt silence, more full than any speech. This last 
evening I watched him with renewed alertness, and as 
the restless autumn wind loosened a shower of yellow 
leaves from the branches overhead, which fell around 
them, some alighting on my sister’s uncovered hair, 
he brushed them away with lingering touch. When 
a little later the evening shadows begun to creep around 
us, I saw him smooth back the curls from her white 


CUMBINC THE HEIGHTS. 


105 


brow, and kiss it with lover’s lips. Silence followed 
unbroken silence, save for the voice of some sweet 
throated night bird resounding plaintively above the 
soft rush of the flowing river ; whose dimpling waters 
grew silvery bright beneath the early moonbeams. 

‘Tt was time to wake her from this maddening 
dream, if indeed there was to be an awakening, 1 
thought, with bitterness in my heart. 

“Ulrica we must go now,” I said suddenly, my voice 
harsh and unnatural, “bring our wraps, they are under 
the tree yonder.” 

As she moved away I stepped quite near to Dr. 
Sutherland and watching him narrowly said, “I wish 
to speak alone with you to-morrow. Dr. Ashley.” . 

He started and stepped back, but quickly recover- 
ing himself, said in a surprised tone: “Why do you 
address me by that name?” 

“Because I believe it rightfully belongs to you,” I 
answered. 

“Your words are puzzling, at least,” he said after 
a little pause. “Please explain.” 

“I shall do so to-morrow, I assured him, and as my 
sister came up at that moment, I said no more. 

“I decided during the short walk home, that I would 
disclose all my suspicions to her. Dr. Ashley, as I 
now felt justified in calling him, left us at the p-ate, 
with an assumed lightness of spirit, for I knew he was 
much disturbed. But again my voice refused to do my 
bidding when my sister came at my request, kneeling 
at my feet, her beautiful face all aglow, because of that 
priceless treasure which she hugged to her heart. 

“O love, love! thou mighty mystery, whence cometh 


106 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


thou with thy untold joys, with thy unspeakable agon- 
ies ?” 

Yes, my voice refused, once more, to place the ser- 
pent doubt in her Eden of blisS, when she asked me 
with surprised questioning glance, “Why do you look 
so strangely at me, Olive?” 

I was silent, for a flood of tears, tears for the sor- 
row that I felt must come to her, choked my further 
utterance. 

Clasping her arms about me, she whispered consol- 
ing words, believing that my tears were for my own 
recent loss, 

“Dear Olive,” she said, ‘ only now can I realize the 
greatness of your loss; now that such a happiness has 
come into my life.” 

“Are you so very, very happy, darling?” I asked 
her. 

“Indeed yes,” she made answer. 

“Should anything occur to part you from him, what 
would you do, Ulrica?” I said. 

“Nay I cannot imagine such a thing,” she answered,, 
with a contented little laugh. 

How was I to tell my darling that this .man was 
masquerading under a false name? ' How was I to 
tell her of my fears and misgivings? 

“Not until I know all, will I whisper the least doubt 
to her,” I decided. 

The following day being the Sabbath, she, the child 
and myself went to one of the beautifuLcity parks, 
in order to gratify the little one's eager desire to. wit- 
ness a baloon ascension, and after it was over, we wan- 
dered about the broad, 'flower bordered walks, until 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


107 


we reached the lake side. Finding a rustic seat which 
encircled a large tree, we took possession of the side 
nearest the water, and sat for some time silently enjoy- 
ing the scene before us, while the weary little one fell 
asleep on its mother’s knee. 

With soft murmuring sound the dimpling unkissed 
waves of the lake broke almost at our feet. Already 
had autumn with frosty fingers, painted the maples 
along the shore a vivid crimson and bright golden hue, 
and as yet, the summer wind still tarried, loth to leave 
the haunts it loved, while there was any vernal thing 
left to whisper to of the fading season. 

After a time the silence was broken by approach- 
ing footsteps and two young men threw themselves 
into a seat not far distant. Evidently they did not 
perceive us, and the first words I heard stayed me in 
my intention of rising that they might know that they 
were not alone. 

“Now that your wife has returned so unexpectedly, 
what do you intend doing with this last victim of 
yours?” inquired a voice which seemed slightly fa- 
miliar. 

“Nothing whatever,” answered the well-known voice 
of -Dr. Ashley. I was then positive that that was his 
true name. 

“Perhaps she will drown herself, as the one of last 
summer did,” said the other sarcastically. “Depend 
upon it, Edward, my sister will not forgive you another 
such entanglement,” he continued, rising anger in his 
tones, “and this must be the last. You know Alice 
perfectly dotes on you and you must treat her square. 
I will be a party to no more of your deceptions.” 


108 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


“Well, how is at fellow to pass away the time when 
everything it at a dead standstill ?“ answered Dr. Ash- 
ley, a little angrily. 

“I hate this foolish practice of chasing about to sum- 
mer resorts and I tried hunting and fishing; they are 
all tiresome. Yes, and even a pair of bright eyes can 
grovY tiresome,” he added, changing his tone and laugh- 
ing lightly, “especially when they are so easily won.” 

At this my face flamed into anger. 

“I see no cause for merriment,” answered the other 
severely, “and depend upon it the end of this affair 
is not yet.” 

“Nonsense,” exclaimed Dr. Ashley carelessly, “I 
never expect to see her again, nor that lynx eyed sister 
of hers who disliked and suspected me from the first ; 
confound her. Hang it all, anyway,” he exclaimed 
in an annoyed tone, “why cannot women do as we do, 
pass a few pleasant hours or days with one, and then 
go their way, instead of falling prostrate at one’s feet, 
crying out that their hearts are broken, their lives are 
ruined. Bah, how tiresome it all is anyway.” 

“You have certainly had sufficient experience in that 
line to know,” said the other in a disgusted tone. 

“Well, well, Walter, drop the subject; I promise you 
that this shall be my last entanglement. Indeed, I did 
not intend at the beginning that it should last one half 
so long,” said Dr. Ashley, lightly, and after a time they 
strolled away conversing on different subjects. For 
many moments I sat incapable of movement, not dar- 
ing- to glance at my sister’s face. 

It was thus this narrow souled creature looked uoon 
the winning of the great treasure of her love. To him 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


109 


it was but a jesting matter, one of many similar epi- 
sodes in his life. So his worthless time must be oc- 
cupied by some pleasing pursuit, be it the pursuits of 
societiers, wasted idling, or a woman’s heart. At length 
I found courage to raise my eyes to my sister’s face. 
It was white as the fleecy gown she wore, and there 
was a strange light in her eyes, as her gaze was riveted 
on the sparkling waters before her. Not a motion had 
she made, not a sign that she had heard those crued 
words that I knew had swept heart and brain, even as 
a hurricane sweeps over a leafy forest, crushing out all 
life in its devastating progress. 

Long we sat in silence, deep, unbroken silence, save 
for the scarcely perceptible splash of a nearby fountain, 
and the murmur of voices as their owners promenaded 
the broad walks of the beautiful pleasure grounds. 
Silence, save for the music of the band, which came 
faintly across the waters, mingled with the rustling 
of the leaves overhead, as a wind from the west tore 
them loose and scattered them around us. Silence, 
save for the soft, fluttering breath of the sleeping child 
on mv sister’s knee. Thus we sat, until the setting 
sun dyed the waters of the lake, a deep crimson hue, 
which gradually faded into gray darkness. And still 
the silence was broken by no word when the moon 
rose and brightened the topmost leaves of the trees, 
and cheered with tender radiant light the shadowed 
spot in which we were hidden. Softly these moon 
beams touched my sister’s face, revealing more plainly 
the strange burning light in her eyes. 

No longer could I endure the silence, and my voice 


no 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


startled me when I said^ “Had we not better return 
home, Ulrica?” 

“Oh no, dear,” she answered quietly, “see how beau- 
tifully the moonlight silvers the water's of the lake. 
Let us enjoy it yet awhile longer.” 

But ah, how strangely altered was her voice, from 
which all the melody had fled. The strings of love’s 
harp were broken and never more would they resound 
with, the music of old. How mistaken I had been in 
expecting as I had, any wild outburst of grief from 
her, for she would bear silently and bravely, this agon- 
izing death of all love’s hopes, just as she had borne 
the other sorrows of her life. 


CHAPTER X. 

“Welcome each high ideal! In it's light 

All noxious plants that grow within the breast 
Will wither, and, like beacon on a crest, 

Hope’s star shall rise, refulgent on the sight.” 

An hour later we were home again. My sister laid 
aside her white plumed hat, her gloves, prepared lit- 
tle Dorothy for bed, and even smiled at something 
the child said. Quietly, calmly, she went about as 
though the greatest tragedy of her life had not just 
been enacted. Later she persuaded the wakeful child 
to lie down, and returning to the parlor after she had 
watched the little one fall asleep, drew up her chair 
to the window, but noticing me as I furtively watched 
her, she came to where I was standing and with 
steady glance bent upon me, clasping both my hands 
and firmly cried, “Qlive, why this grief-stricken 
face?” 

But my tongue could frame no answer. 

Still looking firmly at me, she went on, “Remember 
I have that to uphold me which will not fail. Though 
I have loved, nay worshipped, this man, by the very 
force of my will which is the instrument of my eternal 
hope, I will tear this noxious plant from my breast, 
root and branch. In the light of this eternal hope, 
it shall wither and die. For it is love like this that 
retards the spiritual growth aand holds one to earthly 
things. It is love, like this that sinks. one to the level 
of its object. The pain of unrequited love is not one- 


112 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


half so great as the knowledge this brings me, the 
terrible knowledge that there still exists a miserably 
low strain in my nature, else never would I have been 
attracted to one so narrow SQuled, so small, so unut- 
terably small. 

“Olive, I have loved this man sinfully and the sin 
dimmed my light, so that I could not see, but now a 
part of this obstruction has been removed and the 
light shall increase as I place upon it day by day, 
piece by piece, my dying love, for die it must. The 
victor I will be. But the battle cannot be won in a 
day. Oh sorrow that it is so, for if I were strong, by 
one fell blow I would sweep this obstruction from my 
path. But I must, I will be strong. 

“It is all clear to me now, I have thought it all out, 
there by the lake, Olive, and this episode in my life 
was but needed to cleanse me of all desire for any 
foolish earthly passion which we in our ignorance call 
love. For sweet are these words with their hidden 
meaning : ‘Whom God loveth he chastiseth.’ I have 
disobeyed the law when I made for myself an idol of 
clay, therefore must I suffer the penalty.” 

She was silent for a brief space and then that fire 
of a great hope that had flamed up in her eyes, grad- 
ually gave place to a look of grievous pain, and her 
voice faltered for the first time as she said : “To think 
how I have wasted the precious hours of this past 
summer, in an idle selfish dream. How many hearts 
have I helped to bear their burdens? How many 
smiles have acts of mine brought to faces of little 
children? Not one, no not one! This poison that 
has entered my soul deprived me of all power of dis- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


113 


criminating between right and wrong, else had I 
never thought of marriage, of such a marriage as this, 
for my ideal is so far removed, so altogether above 
such as he. Oh yes, I must have been mad, utterly 
dazed, or dreaming. Indeed I must.” 

Loosing my hands suddenly, she turned to the 
door, saying : “It is late, Olive, and I must be alone. 
Good night.” 

I heard her go up the stairs with a firm step, but 
something impelled me to follow her, for her death 
white face alarmed me. As I reached the landing 
above, she passed through her door, leaving it slight- 
ly ajar, and crossing her room reached out her hand 
for some article on the mantel, when it came in con- 
tact with something else, that something else being a 
little spray of wild blosoms which I remembered he 
had fastened in her hair but two days since. At 
touch and sight of that silent messenger of memory, 
the greatness of her spirit gave way before the great- 
ness of her love. Pressing the now withering blos- 
soms frantically to her lips, she cried, “Oh my love, 
my love, and this is the end!” 

All the desolation of her crushed and bleeding 
heart, told its terrible tale in that one agonizing cry. 
Through my own blinding tears I saw her fall pros- 
trate, quivering in every limb, as if in mortal pain; 
and I, who so longed to comfort her, could do naught 
but stand idly by, and let her fight this terrible battle 
alone. For one wild moment, as I gazed upon her, 
I questioned the ways of my Maker for the second 
time. “She has not sinned and deserves no punish- 


114 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


ment,” I told myself, my heart rebelling most bitterly 
at sight of her sufferings. 

I went away and left her, but could not rest, and 
in the silence of the night, many times^ I crept 
through the darkened hallway to her door. The dim 
light of the lamp had burned out, and the room lay 
in shadow, save for a ray of moon light which’ 
strayed softly, tenderly, pityingly, where she still lay, 
as the slow minutes passed by unheeded. Still I did 
not dare intrude upon her sorrow, but I lingered near 
her door, until the gray dawn broke over the land 
again, and the east brightened little by little, the light 
falling direct in her wide open eyes, bringing her 
back to the duties of living. 

Struggling to her feet as quickly as her cramned 
limbs would permit, she caught up the still sleeping 
child, and fled from the room. Perceiving me she 
said in a scarcely audible, choked voice, ‘‘Olive, bring 
away my things and bar the door.’’ 

Without one backword look she passed down the 
stairs. When I followed her later one glance at her 
face assured me that she was again master of herself. 
Her woman’s weakness had vanished, with the night, 
and the strength of her spirit asserted itself once 
more. But for the vanished roses on her cheek, but 
for the restless light in her eyes, I might have thought 
that no tempter had ever entered our garden of Eden, 
that no sad eyed sorrow had met with the rosy child 
love, and crushed out all joy with its heavy glance. 
For my sister took up the broken threads of her life, 
and joined them smoothly toegther, to all outward* 
appearances. Dr. Ashley’s name was called no more 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


115 


in our household and though there was a ring of pain 
in her voice, by no word or act of hers could I guess 
what she suffered. She was her old sweet self again, 
ever kind, loving and thoughtful of others, ever her 
ready smile cheering with radiant light the pathways 
of those around her. 

She had immediately procured employment at her 
old trade, and even as in the days of her girlhood, she 
labored for the needy. Out of her meager earnings 
many pairs of little feet were kept warm that dreary 
winter, and many miserable homes of the poor were 
brightened with her presence. She seemed to lose 
herself in the sorrows of others, and never wearied 
of listening to their tales of woe. She would walk 
blocks through blinding snow storms to find employ- 
ment for some poor girl. The good she did was im- 
measurable, and yet how little she really had to give, 
save her boundless sympathy and advice. She joined 
no charitable clubs, she feasted "on no dainties, while 
discussing how best to relieve the pressing needs of 
some poor family, but her mite went direct where it 
did the most good. And I, a Christian woman, re- 
mained in my comfortable home and cared for my 
household day by day, believing that I was doing my 
full duty toward God and man. 

One cold evening in January my sister returned 
from her day's labor without the heavy wrap that she 
had worn away that morning. I looked my aston- 
ishment. 

“Olive, I knew you would scold,” she said cheer- 
fully, holding out her hands to the glowing fire in the 


116 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


grate, “but I gave it to a poor woman who needed 
it more than I did/' 

“This is carrying things too far, Ulrica,” I said 
quite impatiently, “you will ruin your health by ex- 
posing to the cold, half clad. You must — ” 

“Oh but Olive,” she interrupted, “had you seen 
the child in her arms, the wind biting its little face and 
hands so cruelly, I am quite sure you must have done 
the same thing.” 

“But you have a child of your own, Ulrica,” I ex- 
postulated. “She needs the proceeds of your labor, 
and it is an injustice to her when you give them to 
others. Remember, charity should begin at home, 
and selfishness is sometimes commendable.” 

“True,” she said, “I have a child of my own to pro- 
vide for, but scarcely do I love her better than the 
others.” 

Turning suddenly to me she said, “Olive, did the 
Nazarine teach that selfishnes was something com- 
mendable?” 

“Judgment must be used, dear, in such matters,” I 
answered her, somewhat abashed before her calm ac- 
cusing glance. 

“Oh yes,” she answered quickly, “we must draw a 
line, but how are we to know where ?” So many say : 
‘We have done our best and yet they surround them- 
selves with needless luxuries and fritter away many 
of the golden moments of life in idleness. Take us for 
example,” she continued, glancing round at our com- 
fortably furnished parlor, “here are many things we 
could dispense with. Think how many fires their 
price would build in frozen garrets, or how much 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


117 


bread could be bought for hungry children with the 
sum paid for these articles, which we deem neces- 
saries, when in fact they are needless luxuries.'" 

“But, Ulrica,” I expostulated, “these luxuries, which 
you so condemn still have their good points. The man- 
ufacturing of them gives work to thousands ; yes, to 
millions who would otherwise be out of employment. 
Constituting the main object of all our striving, in fact 
it is a spur to the progress of all classes.” 

“Yes, Olive,” she said, “I know this is a broad ques- 
tion to argue, and the. pity of it all is that the human 
mind must set itself so closely upon wordly things, 
upon the accumulation of pelf, ere it gains the knowl- 
edge of its utter worthlessness. For the bare neces- 
saries of life are sufficient, and all other possessions 
but weigh us to the earth. What the world needs is 
to learn how to interpret and grasp the grand, inspir- 
ing truths which exist in all nature, in all souls, then 
indeed all life would become glorious.” 

I was silent as I watched her pure nun-like face, 
all alight as one inspired. “But dear,” I said presently, 
“you can not revolutionize humanity. It is perhaps as 
you say, the law must take its course.” 

“But the time may be shortened,” she said, “and I 
shall do my part toward hastening forward that time, 
that great golden age, the glorious Golden Age.” 

Suddenly pausing in her restless walk up and down 
the room, her eyes filled with compassionate tearful 
longing, she cried, “Oh it is so long in coming 
and I am wanting in patience. Olive, I am so sadly 
wanting in patience. Oh I would that I could take 
all breathing creatures that suffer in my arms and 


118 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


comfort them. I would that I could bear their bur- 
dens for them.” 

I was terrified, spell bound, by the mightv spasm of 
pain that seemed to thrill through her whole being 
at thought of her inadequacy to do this thing. Grasp- 
ing a chair for support she cried in pain sharpened 
tones, “Of what use are my puny efforts after all?” 

Trembling, crushed, miserable, she stood with closed 
eyes, white to the Very lips. It was one of those mo- 
ments that come to us all, but to one like her with 
seventy fold more force, when the whole plan of crea- 
tion seems Suddenly to become useless, senseless and 
devoid of interest. Numbed, almost paralyzed, our 
hearts cry out, “What is the use of it all?” 

With lips still drawn and white she said, “This is 
one of my weak moments, Olive. Oh help me.” 

As I looked at her then, I realized that it was not 
for such as I to know what she suffered during those 
moments. 

“Ulrica,” I said, after watching her for a time, “I 
truly believe that you would renounce heaven itself, 
were you offered the opportunity, that you might cheer 
the lowly and sorrowful.” 

“Surely, surely,” she cried, turning to me in great 
surprise, as though it were strange I should doubt for 
a "moment. 

Her strength had returned suddenly. I knew by 
her kindling eye and steady tones. I turned away anil 
said no more. 

As the days came and went she lost herself more 
and more in the lives of those around her, and I dared 
to hope that she had fought down that ignoble love, 
that she was already the victor. 


Climbing the Heights. 


119 ' 


Once I accompanied her to a small farm house, 
where a woman was slowly dying of an incurable 
disease. In reaching that place we traveled the same 
highways and byways along which she and that other 
one had wandered during the past summer. How 
strangely the sighing of the chill east wind, among 
the bare branches overhead, contrasted with the 
soft odorous zephyrs that stirred the trembling 
leaves of that other time. How listless seem- 
ed the pale winter sun which occasionally 
peeped from behind masses of rough gray 
cloud, while little pools of water here and there 
stared darkly up at the cheerless sky. All the sum- 
mer flowers dead, and through sere and vacant 
meadows the river wound along its sullen way. 

But no sign did she make that these spots awakened 
any bitter sweet memories. Oh, how was I to know 
the agony of repression she underwent during all 
those dark winter days ? I did not dream of its inten- 
sity until one day little Dorothy in searching for some 
toy, thinking it must be in mamma’s old room, gath- 
ered all the keys together and fitting one in the lock, 
threw wide the door and entered. At that moment 
her mother, coming from her work, ran swiftly up the 
stairs and reached the landing opposite. She glanced 
within and uttering a stifled cry, staggered blindly 
forward and grasped my arm until I cried out with 
pain. Never before had I seen such agony in human 
eyes. That white drawn face rises before me even 
vet. What memories did the sight of that room’s in- 
terior awaken? That spot where she had fought so 


120 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


fierce a battle and had suffered all the tortures of 
which a nature like hers was alone capable. 

In silence I led her away. Neither of us ever re- 
ferred to the incident, but it told me too surely that 
that battle was still waging fiercely in her heart. 

I barred the door of that room, bidding the child 
never to enter it again. 


CHAPTER XL 


T stand outside the walls of Fate, 

I cry aloud in despair, 

But only the sighs from the valley below 
Float by on the cool night air. 

Oh life that was spent in longing! 

O love that was given in vain ! 

Come back through the mists and the shadows. 
And rid my heart of its pain.’" 

Again the soft south winds were bringing the per- 
fume of opening bud and blossom around our little 
cottage. The leafy thickness of the foliage inter- 
mingled with the early spring flowers and glints of 
sunshine made our little home spot in the world’s gar- 
den a veritable elfin’s retreat. The beautv and grace 
of old mother earth were flushing into life most gor- 
geously. Beside our garden gate great clusters of 
white and purple lilacs were bursting their cleaving 
cones and nodding to the breeze as if rejoicing in their 
own loveliness. Over head from bough to bough 
flitted sweet voiced birds twittering gaily to their mates 
in anticipation of the joys of the coming golden sum- 
mer. The sweet subtle scent springing from the shoots 
of tender green did indeed make the very earth and air 
rife with fragrance, thrilling the senses with new life, 
instilling into the mind the joy of living, causing one to 
realize how great a blessing is mere existence, to 
breathe, to live, to move. 


122 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


My heart was filled with thanksgiving, to the Creator 
as I closed our little gate and took Dorothy’s hand one 
evening in early May, and walked down the street and 
met rny sister returning from her day’s labor. The 
child carried in her hand a spray of purple lilacs for 
mamma to fasten in her belt. After she adjusted it to 
the child’s satisfaction, we loitered along the sunlit 
pavernent for a time before turning our steps home- 
ward. 

Suddenly dropping her mother’s hand, little Dorothy 
darted oil the pavement, cryinp- out to one of the oc- 
cupants of a carriage that was slowly passing: “Why 
don’t you come to see us any more like you did last 
sumQier and take us to the woods and places?” 

Sl]e reached out a tiny hand to Dr. Ashley, for it 
was Tie whom the child had espied. 

Over my sister’s face surged a vivid scarlet flame, 
terrible in its intensity, but it as quickly died away, 
leaving no trace save an increased burning of that 
restless light in her eyes. 

I stepped quickly in front of her in order to hide 
her confusion and reached out my hand to Dorothy, 
for at Mr. Ashley’s side sat a small, fair-haired woman 
whom I immediately concluded was his wife. I knew 
at a glance that she was a vain, frivolous society 
woman, a wealthy woman, and that she had sharp 
eyes, quick to ferret out secrets. She glanced at her 
husband suddenly, quite suddenly enough to see the 
guilty flash which swept his face, but his diplomacy 
came to his aid. Leaning over the side of the car- 
riage he gave his hand to the child, smiling pleasantly. 
“Ah, my little patient, this is indeed a pleasant sur- 
prise,” he said smoothly. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


123 


T again called to Dorothy. 

“Indeed, Edward,” came Mrs. Ashley’s rather shrill 
but polished voice, “you must introduce me to your 
friends.” 

Smilingly, he complied without a trace of embar- 
rassment in his manner. His wife gave us in turn her 
delicately gloved fingers and said quite cordially, scan- 
ning my sister’s face mercilessly : “You and your sister 
must come to see me. You really must. As for this 
sweet child, I wish I could carry her off at once,” and 
she patted little Dorothy’s sunny curls gaily. 

My sister returned the invitation in a steady voice 
and an easy, dignified manner. I marvelled much at 
her will power, for I knew that her love had but been 
as a smouldering fire, which had sprung into glowing 
flame at sight of its builder. 

“Come, Dorothy,” I said, for the third time. 

“I want a little ride,” declared our spoilt darling, 
making no motion to quite the soft cushions in which 
she had perched herself. 

“I have it,” exclaimed the vivacious Mrs. Ashley. 
“Let the sweet pet alone. In one hour she shall be 
safely deposited at your door, charges prenaid.” 

Laughing gaily, she touched the splendid pair of 
bays lightly with the whip, and the carriage with its. 
occupants dashed away. But there was a ring in that 
laugh that I did not like and an expression in the steely 
blue eyes which bespoke suspicion and envv. And in- 
deed, well might that devotee of fashion feel envious, 
for with all arts and tricks knowable to the dame, she 
made but a sorry apnearance beside my sister, who in 
her simple black gown stood in sweet uncon sciom 


124 


CLIMBINa THE HEIGHTS. 


grace, with a light of real friendship growing in her 
beautiful eyes, as they looked straight into those before 
her. 

“Ulrica,"’ I said, as we resumed our way, “this 
is an acquaintance which must not be cultivated. I do 
not like that woman.” 

“I do, very much,” she answered. 

As usual she had probed the soul of the woman, 
with her deep insight into hidden things, and there 
found something worthy of admiration. For ever 
did she look beneath the surface act, which to the com- 
mon mind but called forth scorn, and understood the 
weakness which prompted the act, and while pitying 
this weakness, also find some germ of good. 

One hour later little Dorothy came running through 
the hall, and a smiling, dainty creature stood in the 
doorway waiting an invitation to enter. 

“Ah how cosy, and home like and restful,” she ex- 
claimed, taking in with one sweeping glance the in- 
terior of our dining room. 

“If you would only ask m.e to stay to tea,” she add- 
ed wistfully. But as if suddenly remembering she 
cried, “it is too bad, but I am booked for a dinner at 
the Montgomery’s and afterward the opera.” 

“Come to-morrow,” said my sister, smiling at the 
bright little vision. 

“Thank you, I shall be here,” she smiled back. “Au 
revoir,” and kissing the tips of her fingers to us she 
turned and flittered through the door like a gauzy 
winged butterfly, which she really resembled in her 
shimmering lace trimmed silken gown. 

Little Dorothy was filled with delight at the prospect 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


125 


of more rides and her little tongue was busy all that 
evening, talking of the pretty lady who had chatted and 
laughed with her. 

“She told me to call her butterfly and she would 
call me blossom/’ continued the child, “and I am to 
go and see her and take lots and lots of lovely rides.” 

The child was a lover of bright, beautiful things, as 
the youthful ever are. 

“She is not near as pretty as mamma, though,” she 
went on, looking at her mother. “Won’t you get a 
dress like hers sometime mamma ?” she asked, viewing 
ruefully the tasty but much worn gown. 

Taking the child upon her knee my sister looked in 
the wistful little face and said : “Dorothy, a gown 
such as Mrs. Ashley wore to-day would cost a great 
deal of money, were I to get one like it, we could take 
no more little children for a day in the woods during 
the whole summer. We could buy no more oranges 
and medicines to make well again that sick girl whom 
you were so sorry for yesterday. We could buy no 
more books for that poor lame boy, who cannot work 
as others boys do, and who hopes to take care of his 
mother and little sisters some day by acquiring an 
education. I know my little girl would not refuse to 
help her friends, for the loveliest gown in all the world 
for her mamma, would she?” 

“Oh, no, no,” cried the little one, the repentant tears 
standing in her eyes. “I will never ask you to buy a 
fine dress again.” 

Her mother smiled and kissed away the tears, and 
said no more. But the beautiful lesson of charity and 
self denial took firm root in the young heart. 


126 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


I mused long and deeply that night upon the trans- 
actions of the day. I hsked myself why this society 
woman wished to cultivate our acquaintance ; we were 
evidently so far removed from her station in life. Had 
she taken a real fancy to any member of our house- 
hold, or was it only assumed for a purpose? Did she 
suspect that there was something more than a slight 
acquaintance between her husband and us?” 

‘'What will be the outcome of this meeting?” I 
asked myself with a sinking heart, as I heard my sis- 
ter’s restless step on the veranda far into the night. 

True to her word, our new acquaintance made her 
a])pearance an hour before my sister’s return from the 
shop, on the following day. After greeting me effu- 
sively she declared lightly, “I intend to stay quite a 
long time.” 

I assisted her in removing the pretty white hat 
from her frivolous little head and smiled back at her 
and she thanked me with such childish grace. Though 
I felt that all this friendship was assumed for a pur- 
pose, T could not be cold to her. After an hour’s con- 
versation, I was indeed weary of her ceaseless flow 
of small talk, of parties and balls, of operas and dress. 
These subjects seemingly occupied all her thoughts. 

Little Dorothy coming from her play in the garden, 
stood observing the white robed fairv from the door- 
wav. “You’re awful good,” she declared solemnly. 

“My little Blossom,” cried Mrs. Ashley, running and 
catching the child in her arms and giving her a kiss, 
“you droll, droll creature, why do you think me good?” 

“Because you’re pretty. Pretty people are always 
good,” she said, just as she had once said to me. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


127 


“Not always, child,” answered 4Mrs. Ashley, while 
a shadow flitted swiftly across her sunny face. 

“Where is that charming sister of yours?” she in- 
quired abruptly. 

“She has not yet returned from her work,” I 
answered. 

“Work!” she exclaimed, with wide open blue eyes. 

“Yes, Mrs. Ashley,” I answered. “My own income 
is not sufficient to support us, and besides my sister is 
not one who would permit such support.” 

She remained silent a moment and then cried : “Now 
stop this Mrs. Ashley when you address me. Let us 
1)C friends, real friends ; call me Alice and let me call 
you Olive, do,” she pleaded, actually putting her arms 
around me. “Then I will ask your sister if I may call 
her Ulrica. You see, I learned your names from Ed- 
ward.” 

Turning a pair of pleading blue eyes to my sister, 
who had entered at that moment, she said, “May I?” 

“Indeed you may,” was the ready smiling answer, 
and she gave our new friend both hands in greeting. 

T vaguely wondered what my sister could see in the 
frivolous little creature to so attract her to even call 
forth her loving friendship, for such I knew she had 
given this woman. And to outward appearances it was 
returned, but a subtle cunning lay beneath the surface 
of this woman’s nature that was unworthy in one so 
innocently fair. When her carriage came for her 
at nine o’clock she declared it was the most delightful 
evening she had ever spent. 

We did not avail ourselves of the many kind invi- 
tations extended by Mrs. Ashley to visit her, but she 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS 


V2S 


came and went about our home almost as freely as one 
of its inmates, coming at the most unseemly hours, 
always bright, always smiling. She and little Dorothy 
became real playmates, and when she was weary of 
romping with the child she would sit and watch me 
wonderingly as I performed some household task. In 
this manner the days sped swiftly by, and soon would 
the fair spring be grown to a tall, beautiful maiden 
whom we would call Summer. Already had her 
emerald tinted skirts been lengthened by a border 
of many hued roses, for June, the lovely month of June, 
was with us once again. 

One evening Mrs. Ashley remained to tea, and per- 
ceiving my sister ere she reached the gate, cried : “Ah, 
our gray nun ; run, Blossom, and pluck a red, red rose 
for auntie. We must brighten her up.” 

Auntie has a white one ; it is pretty,” said the child, 
a little puzzled. 

“You mean mamma,” said Mrs. Ashley. 

“No, Auntie Olive,” insisted the little one. 

“Why does she call you auntie ?” asked Mrs. Ashley, 
looking more puzzled than the child. 

“Because I am her aunt,” I made answer, in aston- 
ishment. “Is it possible you were not aware that this 
is my sister’s child?” 

Dorothy had disappeared in quest of the rose. A 
peculiar expression flitted across Mrs. Ashley’s fair 
face ; an expression that was not good to see. 

“Then your sister is not the innocent young girl I 
believed her,” she said, musingly. 

'“My sister is both young and innocent,” I quickly 
answered, my face flaming with indignation at the pos- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


129 


sible insult. ‘"Circumstances have made it imperative 
that she should live apart from her husband, Mrs. 
Ashley.” 

Running to me and putting both arms around me, 
she cried in grieved tones: “Now, Olive, you are 
angry; indeed, I was so surprised I meant nothing at 
all, for I never call a woman who has been married 
young and innocent.” 

Truly she disarmed me, and I could only smile and 
assure her that I was not angry in the least. But I did 
not forget her words nor their hidden meaning. 

I could detect a little change in her manner toward 
my sister when she presently entered the roonl with the 
red, red rose fastened in the laces at her throat, and 
with a light of friendly welcome in her eyes for this 
woman whom I felt was but waiting an opoortunity to 
crush her. Mrs. Ashley laughingly explained her 
stupid mistake, and she watched my sister’s face fur- 
tively as she spoke of her husband. This she very 
often did, and yet she never asked any questions as to 
how we made his acquaintance. But with all her 
watchfulness she was unrewarded by seeing any flush 
of guilt on my sister’s face. She seemed determined 
to bring about another meeting between them. She 
pretended to be angry because we never returned her 
visits, and then told us in her laughing way that she 
intended to go with us to those sylvan retreats which 
we had so often visited during the past summer. 

‘T shall be at your gate as early as lo o’clock on the 
Sabbath morning next,” she declared. “Now Ulrica, 
I want you to look your loveliest,” she said gaily, when 
taking her leave. “I should so like to see you in white ; 


130 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


you would be divine,” and turning as she reached the 
gate, she blew us a kiss from the tips of her white 
jeweled fingers. 

A pleased but very thoughtful expression rested on 
my sister’s face as she watched her depart. Once more 
I warned her against this growing intimacy. 

^Tndeed, Olive,” she answered, ‘There is much that 
is good and lovable in her nature.” 

“I see nothing in her but vanity and frivolity. There 
can be nothing in common between you,” I protested. 
“Here is a dangerous friendship. Give her up, Ulrica, 
before ” 

“Oh, Olive,” she interrupted, “how unobservant you . 
are and, must I say it, uncharitable.” 

She bent upon me a reproachful look, but there was 
pity mingled with it also. And I cowered beneath that 
look and felt my own smallness keenly as she added: 
“Judge not, Olive, for the rich have greater tempta- 
tions than the poor.” 


CHAPTER XII. 


'T hear the happy laughter of the brook, 

The whisper of the breeze, 

Through this same glade my tired eyes may look. 
At sunlight and at trees. 

Yet what is it the Springtime looks to-day 
Being rich in these? 

Above the pulses of the beating air. 

That stirs the trembling leaves, 

Across the clouds that make the sky more fair 
Than foam waves make the seas ; 

I see another day that dawns above 
These self same trees.” 

The following Sabbath morning dawned bright and 
fair, just as those other mornings had dawned — those 
mornings that were buried deen in the past summer’s 
arms. And their memory was buried just as deep in 
my sister’s heart. 

Little Dorothy had been waiting some time at the 
gate, impatient to be off, and called to us as a carriage 
came swiftly up the street. On the soft cushions sat 
a perfect vision of daintiness, enshrouded in foamy 
lace, through whose delicate meshes gleamed folds of 
pale lavender satin. Bonneted and gloved to perfec- 
tion, her yellow crimped hair glittering like threads of 
gold in the sunshine, she was indeed most bewitching. 
And beside her sat — Dr, Ashley. 


132 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


“You see I have captured him for the day,” she 
cried gaily, but her eves were very observant. 

Again that scarlet flame swept my sister’s face, but 
as suddenly disappeared, leaving an almost deathly 
pallor in its place. Dr. Ashley sprang from the car- 
riage and held the gate open for us to pass through. 
Soon we were whirling rapidly past clover scented pas- 
tures, past fields of waving grain, through shady wood- 
lands, past the very spot where we had first met this 
man who sat opposite us, seemingly as unconcerned of 
the surroundings as was my sister, for by no sign, save 
for the increased pallor of her face, could I guess what 
was passing in her mind. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Ashley smilingly exclaimed : “Why, 
Ulrica, you look like a ghost. You must get some of 
that beautiful color back that I saw in your face as 
we drove up.” 

There was a sneering ring in her^voice and a steelly 
glitter in her blue eyes. 

“Mamma’s always white now,” chimed in Dorothy's 
little voice, “but she used to have redder cheeks than 
yours.” 

Mrs. Ashley laughed. True, it was a little laugh, 
but it held a world of meaning. Suddenly looking 
straight at my sister, she asked her: “Do you like to 
look at any one with whom you are speaking?” 

“Why certainly,” replied my sister, smiling her rare, 
sweet smile as she gazed straight into the watchful 
orbs before her. 

“Then why do you not look at Edward when you 
speak to him ? Even Olive has not honored him with 
a glance from her truthful gray eyes during the whole 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


133 


of our ride/’ she said, scanning my sister’s face sharply. 

‘T do not believe Dr. Ashley has addressed either 
Olive or myself directly since we started, nor we him,” 
answered my sister. 

“You are so entertaining and, may I say enticing, 
we could scarcely look elsewhere than at you.” 

“Ah, flatterer,” exclaimed the little vain creature, 
becoming somewhat mollified beneath my sister’s 
friendly glance. 

How strange that the latter did not understand those 
little poisoned arrows of speech that had been aimed 
so surely at her. But they had failed to wound, for 
she had a shield with which to ward them off, and that 
shield was innocence. Not so with Dr. Ashley, 'who 
sat chafing beneath their sting as they glanced past her 
and struck him with heavy force. I could not guess 
by what means his wife had induced him to take this 
trip, which I knew must be both disagreeable and irk- 
some to him. I knew, too, before the day was done 
tliat he thoroughly detested the bright little creature 
whom he called wife. 

Mrs. Ashley turned her attention to Dorothy and 
said : “Now, my little blossom, how far is it to that 
shady dell where you used to go so many, many 
times ?” but her eyes were upon my sister’s face as she 
spoke. 

“Oh, we’ve passed it long ago,” answered the child. 

“Edward !” came Mrs. Ashley’s voice, quick and 
sharp, “you knew where I wished to go to-day. What 
reason have you to avoid the place?” 

He answered her with a swift glance of unholy 
wrath, but gave the order to turn back, and soon we 


134 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


alighted on the very spot where my sister had dreamed 
away the golden hours of a past summer. There was 
the river on whose banks she and Dr. Ashlev had 
stood, hand in hand, to watch the moon rise and silver 
its waters. Overhead the skies were just as blue as 
on the other days. The south wind whispered among 
the leafy thickness above us with the same gentle voice, 
but ah! The tales it told were not the tales of those 
other days. The flowers bloomed along the brook- 
side, nodding gaily to their reflections in the rippling 
water, but they were not the flowers of those other 
days. 

How foolish I had been in allowing my sister to be 
decoyed to this spot, which must awaken such bitter 
sweet memories. However, if such was the case she 
made no sign. Mrs. Ashley pretended to be charmed. 
She and little Dorothy flitted about over the flower 
sprinkled sward like two bright winged butterflies, 
whilst my sister and I stood watching them, laughing 
to see their merriment. Dr. Ashley sat apart in 
gloomy silence. 

After a time Mrs. Ashley came tripping up to him 
and cried gaily: “Edward, do you not think Ulrica is 
lovely in white?” But giving him no time to reply, 
she turned and plucked a spray of scarlet blossoms 
near by ; indeed, it was from the very spot where he 
had plucked its counterpart the past summer. Hand- 
ing it quickly to him, laughing to hide the command, 
she added: “But she needs a touch of color. Fasten 
it in her hair, Edward. She is so tall I cannot reach.” 

Dr. Ashley took the flower in his hand and looked at 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


135 


my sister, who stepped back a little, while a painful 
flush mantled her face. 

“Ah, she does not need them now. I think her cheek 
outrivals their scarlet beauty,” declared Mrs. Ashley, 
sarcastically. 

Her husband turned and tossed the luckless flower 
into the river, and giving her an angry glance, said in 
an undertone: “I wish you would hold your tongue, 
Alice, or talk sense. For my part I think woman’s 
greatest virtue is silence.” 

“How cruel you are, Edward,” she said, struggling 
to keep back her tears, her bright manner completely 
subdued. 

“Edward seems to find our society a little dull,” she 
said, turning to us. “No doubt he is longing for his 
clubs, and — and ” 

“Patients?” I supplemented. 

“Oh, no; he does not practice medicine, except in 
cases of emergency, such ^s when he was called to 
our little sick Blossom here,” she said. 

“But I never get sick, do I, mamma?” said the child 
quickly. 

“Your health is perfect, dear,” answered her mother. 

A flash of comprehension showed itself in Mrs. Ash- 
ley’s eyes, but she said no more on the subject. Evi- 
dently Dr. Ashley had explained the manner in which 
he had made our acquaintance in a way that best suited 
himself and would allay his wife’s suspicions. 

She at once began chatting in her bright, breezy 
manner, and after we partook of the luncheon, which 
was a marvel of daintiness, that had been prepared 
from her own larder, she and little Dorothy began 


136 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


gathering and arranging great bunches of wild blos- 
soms to carry away. My sister assisted them in their 
task of depositing several bunches in the car- 
riage, came and sat down beside me and was soon lost 
in thought, watching the fleecy clouds float across the 
azure skies. But after a time that subtle unseen cord 
which holds us yet to the earth drew her thoughts 
back from the very confine of space where they seemed 
to be wandering. Suddenly lowering her gaze, she 
met that of Dr. Ashley bent full upon her. She did not 
turn away, but still with that same wrapt expression 
she looked at him charmed, helpless. Gradually a beau- 
tiful flush crept to her face; beautiful as the dawning 
light rose tints the snowy clouds that hover in the 
East at morning. Ah, well I new that she had forgot- 
ten time, place and all things save the handsome face 
of the man before her. 

I rose hastily and stepped between them. As I did 
so I heard a sarcastic little laugh and, looking round, 
found that Mrs. Ashley was standing but a short dis- 
tance from us. All the malignant, spiteful fires of 
jealousy were burning in her blue eyes, which were 
almost black with passion. Again she laughed a verv 
little laugh, but it meant more than a torrent of words. 
Then controlling herself with an effort, she stooped to 
gather up the blossoms that she had allowed to fall to 
the ground. 

When this was accomplished she assumed her old 
gaiety of manner and exclaimed, looking at my sister ; 
“Oh, ma chere, you have a deadly pallor.’’ 

There was a ring in her voice that told too surely of 
the jealous fires that were consuming her. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


187 


My sister’s marvelous will power came to her aid 
and she regained her composure. Mrs. Ashley, as 
usual, monopolized the conversation during the ride 
back to the city. During the day she had obtained .a 
reluctant promise from me that we would visit her on 
the following Wednesday. Waving us a smiling adieu 
as we again stood at our gate, she cried, glancing back 
at my sister: '‘Indeed, if you do not come I shall be- 
lieve you have some reason for avoiding Edward and 
myself.” 

I demurred against that promised visit, but in vain, 
for my sister said she knew no cause for refusing to 
comply with the kind wishes of Mrs. Ashley. I re- 
frained from making known my suspicions — no, my 
certainties — in regard to the vindictive feelings which 
this woman entertained toward her. I feared to cause 
her pain by speaking of any of the incidents of the day, 
but I felt assured that Mrs. Ashley sought to bring 
about these meetings between my sister and Dr. Ash- 
ley in order to satisfy herself that there was or had 
been somthing more than mere friendship between 
them. So free was my sister from intentionally wrong- 
ing the woman that she never dreamed she had gained 
her jealous enmity. 

So the following Wednesday evening we paid the 
promised visit. We had supposed that Dr. and Mrs. 
Ashley were the possessors of much wealth, but were 
not prepared to see such lavish splendor as was dis- 
played on every side. The hallway alone of their 
beautiful mansion contained very nearly the space re- 
quired to cover all the ground floor of my little cot- 
tage. Rare foliage, plants and graceful palms stood 


138 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


here and there, while costly statues gleamed nymph- 
like from amongst the vivid green of the foliage or 
from the little niches. To the right was a broad oaken 
stairway. To the left tapestry-hung doorways led to 
the parlors, which were perfect bowers of luxurious, 
tasteful beauty. 

There were soft, velvety carpets, seemingly strewn 
with woodland blossoms, so natural one scarce dared 
tread upon them for fear of crushing them. There 
were silken curtains through which the sunlight flit- 
tered with a soft subdued rose-tinted haze. Rare paint- 
ings decked the walls, each worth a small fortune. The 
bronze clock on the mantle chimed the half hour after 
six as we were ushered in by a liveried servant. 

Little Dorothy was chattering with delight and de- 
clared : ‘T shall go and find Butterfly,” and away she 
tripped before we could restrain her. Soon we heard 
her returning, accompanied by our hostess. 

“Ah, I have captured you at last,” she exclaimed, 
going up to my sister and kissing her, tip-toeing in 
order to do so. She also bade me welcome, but less 
effusively, for she knew that I understood her. After 
a few minutes of pleasant conversation the dinner bell 
resounded through the halls and our hostess led the 
way to the dining room. 

Here the scheme of wealth was still more apparent. 
Rare silver, cut glass and old china gleamed brightly 
from the snowy napery. A huge center piece of pink 
and white roses lent an added grace to the perfectly 
appointed table. 

Dr. Ashley and the friend whom he had called Wal- 
ter on that summer day were waiting. Both looked up 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


139 


in surprise as we entered. Evidently our presence was 
not known to them, and I strongly suspected that Dr. 
Ashley would have absented himself had he previously 
been aware of his wife’s plaps. We were introduced 
to the young man, who proved to be her brother, Wal- 
ter Fielden. Mrs. Ashley’s eyes were sharp indeed, 
for she allowed not the least change of countenance to 
escape her. 

“Walter,” she said, testily, “if you have met my 
friends before why did you not say so?” 

“I have never had the honor until now,^’ he assured 
her. 

Turning her bright glance on little Dorothy, she 
asked : “Blossom, did you ever see this young man be- 
fore?” 

The child looked steadily at him for some time, then 
answered : “I saw somebody that looked like him when 
Dr. Ashley went with us to the woods one day.” 

Mrs. Ashley flashed an angry, triumphant glance at 
her brother and said no more. 

I felt my face burning with indignation. Did not 
the woman know that she was insulting both my sister 
and myself? And to complicate matters still further 
my sister, not recalling where we had met him, looked 
up and said: “I do not remember, do you, Olive?” 

And I certainly could only answer “Yes.” 

My hostess and I exchanged defiant glances and the 
subject was not renewed. She immediately became her 
bright self again, but I knew that the heat beneath that 
velvet, lace trimmed bodice was burning with a furv 
of jealous spite. A thrill of genuine pity for this 
woman touched my heart; this woman who strove in 


140 CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


vain to keep her husband’s love, who decked herself in 
laces and jewels that she might be fair in his sight. 
This woman, who lavished her wealth upon him (for I 
had learned that he was but a poor physician when 
they met) as freely as the God-given sunshine is lav- 
isfied upon the earth, still strove in vain to elicit one 
admiring or even kind glance from him during the 
whole evening. His eyes continually sought my sis- 
ter’s face, and truly she was worthy of admiration, 
though no jewels clasped her white throat or flashed 
from the coils of her dark hair, which crowned her 
head more beautifully than any coronet. Her black 
gown was brightened only by a knot of pink carna- 
tions, and the pearly whiteness of her perfectly 
moulded arms was but half veiled by the close fitting 
lace sleeves which, were cut after the fashion of 
the day. More and more did I marvel at her will 
power as the evening advanced, for from quiet calm- 
ness she became gay, happy — yes, brilliant — no doubt 
glowing in the knowledge that she was conquering her- 
self if ever so slowly. 

Mrs. Ashley mistook the happy triumph that lighted 
my sister’s face into such glorious beauty; mistook it 
for another sort of triumph as she watched her hus- 
band’s gaze follow her as though it was impossible to 
withdraw it. 

When we returned to the parlor Mrs. Ashley tried 
hard to keep up her role of lightness of heart, but she 
soon lapsed into silence, while my sister entertained us 
with glimpses of her richly stored mind. Never had I 
seen her show to such advantage. An accomplished 
society belle with the finished grace acquired by long 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


141 


training could not have comported herself with more 
elegance of manner. Added to this was her dazzling 
beauty and broad intellect. Was it any wonder that 
this man’s eyes followed her when he knew so surely 
that he, above all men, had won the love of one so 
peerless? Yet, I knew he had not the soul to realize 
her worth. 

After a time Mrs. Ashley rose and, placing some 
music on the open piano, asked her to sing a favorite 
song. Those beautiful lines of George Meredith, “The 
Deserted Wife,” which my sister had set to music and 
sang so many times for Mrs. Ashley at our home. 
After striking a few wandering chords her voice rose 
and filled the room with sweet, tremulous melody. Sad, 
fervid, entrancing it was, and one could feel her very 
nature in every note she played or sang. When the 
song was finished her white fingers strayed into one of 
those plaintive and appealing melodies from Tann- 
hauser, and she caught the very spirit of the composer, 
adding to it her own matchless talent. And still again 
she rendered with such skill and power the grand and 
moving harmonies of “Gounod,” the highly colored 
movements of “Liszt,” that we sat in enraptured 
silence. 

I looked at her face as the soft light of the chandelier 
fell upon it, and strangely changed it seemed. Her 
eyes were soft, with a wealth of love and tenderness. 
The silky waves of her midnight hair fell upon her 
white neck and forehead, making her beauty dazzling, 
enticing. I, all unwitting of the pain I might cause, 
asked for a song, one which she had not sune since that 
other summer when Dr. Ashley was a welcome guest 


142 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


in our home. She was silent a moment before begin- 
ning it, was though recalling the lines, but with the 
lines came other memories crowding thick and fast 
upon her. But with renewed energy, as if trying her 
power of endurance to its utmost limit, she began the 
song. 

Meanwhile Dr. Ashley, regardless of the watchful 
eyes of his wife, crossed over to the piano and stood 
looking at my sister, his face all alight, even as it had 
been those other times when she had sung this self 
same song for him. She looked up suddenly and met 
his gaze, her hands fell with a crash upon the key- 
board and again that scarlet flame swept her face with 
a terrible intensity. But it also receded as swiftly, 
leaving her white as the dead. 

Mrs.^ Ashley rose and, taking a step forward, stood 
observing them, her bright eyes fairly scintillating 
sparks of fire in her jealous ra^e. But she suppressed 
her anger with an effort of will power I did not deem 
her capable of. However, her voice belied her words, 
for it was still thick with anger as she went up to my 
sister and said politely : “I fear that we have been too 
exacting. If the gentlemen will excuse us I have 
something entertaining to show you in my rooms,” 


CtlAPTER XIII. 

The hope of the past 
Perished in the blast. 

As adversity’s winds blew cold; 

With sorrowful sound 

They moan around 

Ere half the years of life’s been told. 

Mrs. Ashley led us up the broad stairway to her 
boudoir, a dainty nest of white and gold, which seemed 
to me like a glimpse of fairy land. 

‘T wished to have you and Olive all to myself for 
a little while,” she said, motioning us to be seated. 

But I knew why she wished us to quit the parlor, 
for she was goaded almost to madness by the atten- 
tions of her husband to my sister, and I pitied her 
deeply, whilst I thoroughly detested the man who 
could be so careless of his wife’s happiness. I was 
angry with my sister for her stupidity, as I termed her 
utter ignorance in regard to Mrs. Ashley’s feelings 
toward her. And I was still more angry with myself 
for consenting to this visit. It was, indeed, in vain 
that our hostess tried to be her old bright self, and 
my sister observed her wonderingly for a few 
moments. 

“Why do you look so at me, Ulrica ?” she asked sud- 
denly; “do you pity me?” 

There was a hard ring in her voice and a defiant 
gleam in her eyes, which my sister could not fail to 
note. 


144 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


‘Tf you are unhappy I pity you,” she answered. 

‘T am most unhappy,” cried Mrs. Ashley, turninpf 
like a flash upon her and struggling desperately for 
self control. “The one thing I value most is denied 
me, and that is my husband’s love.” 

“Many of us are denied that which we most value, 
dear friend,” answered my sister softly ; “but the great 
Law deals to each his just dues.” 

Mrs. Ashley stared at her in supreme amazement, 
but finding in her eyes such a truthful, steady look, 
she was puzzled. Neither could she resist the charm of 
that look, for it was one of tender, compassionate love, 
for did they not both suffer from the same cause?” 

And when my sister took the little creature’s hands 
in her own and said softly, “Alice, let me comfort 
you,” she burst into a passion of tears and laid her 
bright little head on my sister’s breast, while between 
her sobs she gasped, “Of all persons in the world you 
should be the last one to comfort me.” 

It was my sister’s turn to look puzzled, as she said, 
expostulatingly, “Nay, Alice, do not say so; remem- 
ber our pledge of friendship,” and she clasped still 
closer the drooping, grief stricken little figure. In- 
deed, so sure was she that Dr. Ashley cared nothing 
for her that she never entertained the thought for a 
moment that she was the cause of this woman’s grief. 
But I could not help believine that mv sister had 
reached a place in his shallow, selfish heart, which no 
other had ever reached before. 

Mrs. Ashley drew back a little and smiling through 
her tears, looked at my sister with an inscrutable light 
in her eyes, whether of friendship or enmity I could 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


145 


not make sure. But she had conquered her temporary 
weakness and cried gaily : “Say no more, Ulrica. I am 
really shocked at myself for entertaining my guests 
with my foolish tears. Oh, here is Blossom,” she ex- 
claimed, as the child came tripping in. “Come here, 
my little tot. I want you and auntie to exert your 
united influence on mamma and persuade her to accept 
a token of my love. Now, what shall it be. Blossom, 
these ?” and she reached her hand to unclasp the string 
of pearls that encircled her throat. 

“I know,” exclaimed the child. “I want her to have 
a dress just like the one you wore the first time we saw 
you.” 

“I do not remember,” answered Mrs. Ashley. 

“It was just the color of our lilacs and all trimmed 
with black lace. Mamma would be so pretty in one 
like that,” and the little one clapped her small hands 
gleefully. 

Mrs. Ashley left the room a moment and returned 
with the beautiful gown and laid it over the back 
of a chair for our inspection. My sister looked at it 
longingly and then looked away, while Mrs. Ashley 
asssured the child that mamma should have its counter- 
part. 

“Alice, I do indeed appreciate the kind motive which 
prompts your offer, but I cannot accept anything so 
costly,” said my sister, firmly. 

“Fie upon your objections,” cried Mrs. Ashley, light- 
ly. “I will have none of them.” 

“Alice,” she said, “if you really wish to do me a 
favor, give me the sum which such a gown would 
cost. I know a poor family that could be rescued from 


146 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


the direst want by the use of that sum, and life would 
again be worth living to them. There are two small 
children and a young girl who are slowly dying for 
the need of fresh air and a country life, besides the 
hard working widowed mother. Do this, Alice, and it 
will be the dearest, most treasured gift you could^pos- 
sibly make me. 

My sister had grown eloquent in her pleadings for 
those unfortunate ones, and Mrs. Ashley watched her 
with a new light in her own eyes as she said, thought- 
fully: “And I spend for a single gown a sum that 
would rescue a whole family from want, and that 
sum would make life worth living to four human be- 
ings.” There were actual tears of remorse standin^r 
in her eyes as she lifted them humbly to my sister’s 
face. “Indeed, I did not know I was so selfish and 
wicked.” 

“You are neither selfish or wicked, Alice,” quickly 
answered my sister. “These things have never been 
brought directly to your notice, while I have lived 
among them all my life.” 

“You shall havo three times the sum vou asked for. 
Ulrica,” cried Mrs. Ashley, with a burst of generosity. 
And she made good her word by immediately takin^ 
from a drawer of her writing desk a roll of notes and 
placed them in my sister’s hand, who said pleadinglv. 
“Go with me to-morrow and give it to them your- 
self.” 

“Oh, no,” she exclaimed. “I am sure I could not 
bear the sight of very great poverty,” and she 
shrugged her pretty shoulders as though the thought 
was not to be entertained for a moment. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


147 


At ten o’clock we took our departure. Mrs. Ashley 
had ordered the carriag^e brought around for us and 
promised faithfully to see us on the morrow. 

When we again entered our own door, my sister said 
with a sigh of relief : 

“How good it is, after all, to be poor, Olive.” 

I also sighed, but not with relief, as I said, “I do not 
agree with you at all, Ulrica,” for indeed it was so, 
for our home seemed small and mean to me on our re- 
turn. Not a word was said by either of us in regard to 
the incidents of the evening, although I had assured 
myself that I would convince my sister that Mrs. Ash- 
ley’s was a dangerous friendship. But again I feared 
to cause her pain, and I also shrank from evoking 
again that accusing look she ever bent upon me when I 
spoke of the shortcomings of a fellow creature. 

Long after I had retired for the night I heard mv 
sister’s restless step on the veranda. I decided then 
and there that I would find both the excuse and the 
means to take her away for a time at least, where she 
could meet no more the man whose image she was 
striving to tear from her heart. When I at length 
heard her quit the veranda and reach the garden path 
below, I slipped on a light dressing gown and fob 
lowed her, for still that fear of Mark Warren lay 
heavily upon me. 

Stepping into the shadow of the vines that almost 
concealed the entrance to our little cottage, I watched 
her as she paced back and forth between great clusters 
of blossoms whose drowsy breath filled the night air 
with sweetest fragrance. All the wealth of her cloudy 
hair was flowing in rippling waves down her back. 


14B 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


As she paused and leaned against the vine wreathed 
lattice, the moonlight fell full across her face, revealing 
its terrible whiteness and the burning glow in her eyes. 
It was one of those bright, silent nights when the wind 
seemed to have forgotten the earth. Even the insects 
that make night resonant with sweet, restless sound 
had chirruped themselves to sleep, and the very night 
seemed holding its breath as if waiting for something 
to happen. Realizing the lateness of the hour, I was 
about to call her to come indoors, when I heard a 
soft step on the gravelled walk and, looking up quickly, 
there, like an evil thing of the night, creeping to our 
very door, stood Dr. Ashley close beside her. Raising 
her head from its drooping posture, she looked at him 
fearfully at first and seemed struggling to escape him. 
But quite unable to resist that subtle power which he 
held over her, she permitted him to take both her hands 
in his own. 

Again had she forgotten all things save his presence ; 
that his handsome face and love-lit eyes were before 
her. And when he put his arms about her, drawing 
her close, and said softly, “Love, forgive me,” she still 
made no resistance. 

But when he stooped and kissed her upturned face 
it seemed to wake her with a shock to full conscious- 
ness of the bitter present. Struggling from his em- 
brace, in a scarcely audible, choked voice she cried, 
“Oh, this is terrible ! Leave me.” 

I could not know the depths of her despair, for it 
was beyond earthly sorrows, as she realized her own 
wealmess — that weakness of the soul, which she had 
sworn to conquer. I think she was dazed into helpless- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


149 


ness by its enormity, for she seemed incapable of fur- 
ther movement or speech for the time being. 

I sprang in front of Dr. Ashley and my voice, too, 
was choked, but it was with a terrible anger as I 
cried : 

“How dare you, how dare you!”' 

“I do not know how I dared,” he made answer, and 
turned to quit the spot, when my own words were 
repeated, “How dare you; oh, how dare you!” in a 
voice so shrill with rage that I failed to recognize it. 

However, I did not fail to recognize the small figure 
of Mrs. Ashley as she stood directly in her husband’s 
path seeking to bar his progress. But he pushed her 
roughly aside, passed through the gate and was gone 
ere she could say more. 

Baffled in her attempt to vent a part of her jealous 
lage upon him, she turned to us. Such deadly hatred; 
such anger I never saw in woman’s face before, white, 
drawn and quivering as it was with unholy passion. 
She stood before us a moment in silence, so beside her- 
self that she could not speak. But finding her voice 
at length, she fairly shrieked, pointing'^a trembling 
finger at my sister with withering scorn : “And you 
are the woman who pretended to be my friend and 
with your smooth tongue and innocent, truthful looks 
thinks to blind me to your guilty love. Oh, to think 
of your perfidy,” and her voice still rose with her in- 
creasing passion, “when this very night you almost 
convinced me against my common sense that you were 
my friend and I had begun to love you as such. And I 
find you late at night in my husband’s arms. Oh, you 


150 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


do well to shrink before me,” she cried; “me whom 
you have so wronged.” 

My sister still stood dazed and helpless before her, 
but not shrinking. 

“Madam,” I cried, as she paused for breath, “it is 
quite useless for me to attempt an explanation, for your 
mind is too narrow to comprehend the truth in regard 
to this unfortunate affair.” 

“Explanation, indeed,” she sneered. “Could you ex- 
plain away a fact?” 

“I could,” I answered, “for despite such damaging 
circumstances, my sister is still as free from guilt as 
is her little child.” 

“Bah ; I despise you with your senseless subterfuges, 
and as for your sister, 1 could kill her,” cried the irate 
woman, viciously, “for she has ruined my life.” 

At this my sister, finding her voice, cried imploring- 
ly, even humbly: “Oh, Alice, dear Alice, do not say 
that ; allow me to explain,” and she sought to take the 
other’s hands. 

But the angry little woman drew back, saying : “Do 
not dare to touch me, you low, fallen creature! Ad- 
venturess, now I know for what purpose you procured 
those notes from me to-night. Deny it if you can. It 
was to deck yourself in such finery as you are wearing 
to-night that you might look the more beautiful in your 
lover’s sight. Of a truth your charms this night are 
unsurpassed, with flowing hair and ” 

“Madam!” I interrupted, myself so angry that I 
scarce could keep from doing her personal violence, 
“it is a lie; do you hear, it is a lie. You shall have 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


151 


your paltry gift returned to you,” and I stepped toward 
the door that I might get the notes. 

“No, Olive,” said my sister, firmly, “that you shall 
not do.” 

“Indeed no,” exclaimed Mrs. Ashley, with such 
scathing scorn that it was unbearable to me, and I 
turned upon my sister angrily and shaking her rough- 
ly, cried : “Ulrica, have you not one vestage of pride 
about you?” 

“I have no false pride, Olive,” she answered quietly. 

“Let her keep them,” cried Mrs. Ashlev, “that she 
may flaunt the more laces and ribbons on the white 
gowns she wears to meet her lover in the garden. 
Ulrica Warren, do you think this is the first time I 
have watched the place at night ?” she continued, turn- 
ing again fiercely upon her, “and found you waiting 
and watching for him ? Do you think it is the first time 
I have followed him here ? Do you think ” 

“Oh, Alice,” cried my sister, falling on her knees 
before the infuriated woman, “I beg of you to listen 
to me ; let me ” 

“You miserable creature, 1 will not degrade myself 
by bandying further words with you,” interrupted Mrs. 
Ashley, and she turned swiftly about and left us. 

“How could you bear it, Ulrica?” I cried, my anger 
increasing as I saw her humble herself thus. “Why did 
you not throw her paltry gift in her face?” 

She rose from her knees and softly answered, “I 
bore it for the sake of those little ones, Olive.” 

Truly I was answered. And she had borne this 
woman’s scorn and bitter accusations in regard to the 
procuring of those notes with Christ-like meeekness, 


152 


CLIMBING THE HEIGH rS. 


that those needy ones might be lifted from want. As 
I realized her greatness of spirit my anger gave place 
to deep admiration for her and shame for my own 
smallness. I believed myself a model Christian woman, 
but oh, where was my meekness of spirit? 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Temptation steali in through my door, 

And smilingly whispers o’er and o’er 
Cease this endless and bitter strife. 

For love is lord of all thy life. 

Silently we entered the house and gained our room, 
when Ulrica turned to me with a fear in her eyes 
which amounted even to horror, as she said : “Olive, 
what if I should prove after all to. be only a weak, 
foolish woman?” 

“That you will never be, Ulrica,” I hastened to as- 
sure her. “Let me tell you what a weak, foolish woman 
would do who is in your position. She would make no 
effort to subdue this unholy passion, and would give 
way to it, allowing it to drag both body and soul to 
the lowest depths.” 

But still the fear grew and deepened in her glowing 
eyes, and her voice was sharp with pain as she cried : 
“Just what I may do yet. I, who believed myself so 
brave, so strong, so sure of winning all life’s battles. 
Oh, how far have I fallen this night? But who can 
know the greatness of my love or the depths of my 
despair? Oh, that I could strike this evil thing from 
my life. This evil thing that enthralls me as in a mad- 
dening dream from which I wake with an unutterable 
horror.” 

Sinking on her knees by the bedside she buried her 
white face in the pillows and groaned aloud. I was a 


154 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS 


Qiristian woman, yet I sought to teach her the gospel 
of Satan, for I went to her and said: “Ulrica, 
strive to bring yourself to hate this man, who has 
brought such a bitter sorrow into your life/’ 

She arose and stood before me with that light in her 
eyes which I had learned to so dread. 

“Olive,” she said, “when I suffer any one to gain 
the power over me that will cause me to hate, I shall 
indeed feel that I am undone. I do not hate.” 

I turned from her in confusion. When I again 
dared to glance at her, a great fire of hope and de- 
termination had flamed up in her eyes and her voice 
was soft and tremulous with joy as she said: “But 
now I said that I despaired. It is an ignoble word, 
which means weakness and sin. I will not despair. I 
will be the conquerer and not the conquered. Olive 
dear,” she continued, “rest assured that I shall never 
disgrace you. Oh, worldly one,” and she smiled at 
me, “for if we were both free and he should come 
kneeling at my feet and pray me to go with him and 
be his own always, I should say him nay. For I know 
this man is not my equal. I know I have the wdll 
power to rise triumphant above this unworthy love.” 

“Was there aught of egotism about this proud, yet 
humble one? Again I answer, ‘No.’ ” 

The following morning Ulrica was up with the sing- 
ing lark, and while I prepared breakfast she hurried 
away to give to her poor friends that gift of Mrs. Ash- 
ley ; that gift for which she had humbled her pride in 
the dust, that life might be worth the living for them 
again. No trace of the tempest of -a few short hours 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


155 


before was discernable in her bright face when she 
returned. 

“Oh Olive,” she cried, “if Alice could but have 
heard their words of thankfulness, could but have seen 
the joy on the faces of those little children at pros- 
pect of a country life ; could but have seen the grateful 
tears of the poor mother and invalid daughter, she 
must indeed have been gladdened for many a day.” 

During all the long hours of that day my mind was 
busy with the problem of where to go and how, for 
I was determined to take Ulrica where the evil influ- 
ence of Dr. Ashley’s presence could cast it’s spell over 
her no more. Well I knew that should she meet him 
again all her great resolutions and high resolves would 
melt away, even as mists before the noonday sun, and 
the same old struggle to regain her lost footing must 
be gone over. These struggles which were so fierce in 
their intensity that they must in time wear out both 
body and soul. 

As I was idly turning over the morning paper an 
advertisement attracted my attention ; “Wanted — ^A 
companion for an invalid lady ; also a governess for 
two small children ; latter must be good musician. Ad- 
dress Box 356, Sacramento, Cal. 

I was at once on the qui vive. Here was an oppor- 
tunity to put almost the width of the continent between 
her and that man. I immediately wrote an answer and 
mailed it. 

Ulrica returned home earlier than usual that day, in 
her hand an evening paper. Without a word she laid 
it before me pointing to an article headed in glaring 
letters, “Scandal in high life.” 


156 CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


She stood by me while my eyes followed line after 
line, until I saw her name mentioned in scathing terms 
as the evil genius who had separated Dr. Ashley and 
his wife. Dropping the paper I looked up at her. She 
was observing my face closely and noting my horrified 
look, asked calmly: “Does it touch me, Olive?” 

Knowing her as I did, knowing all the circum- 
stances that led to this shocking termination of this 
unhappy affair, knowing her moral superiority over 
her judges, I could only answer, “No, Ulrica, it does 
not.” 

She stooped and kissed my forehead tenderly. “Dear, 
loving sister,” she said. 

“But the world will never know, Ulrica,” I gasped, 
overcome by the heaviness of the disgrace which had 
fallen upon us. 

A long time she stood and looked at me, thinking 
deeply. “I shall be proud indeed,” she said, “when I 
have attained to that state of wisdom wherein I can 
obey His commandment, “Avoid the appearance of 
evil.” Oh, it takes much learning with many bitter 
lessons ere one can attain to it, but it can be done.” 

“Most bitterly do I deplore the loss of Alice’s friend- 
ship,” she added, “for I fear for her and I would that 
she knew the whole truth.” 

Yes, there was still nothing but tenderest pity and 
love in my sister’s heart for this woman, who in her 
jealous fury had blasted her reputation, bitterly de- 
nouncing her as an adventuress that the whole world 
might read and believe in her guilt. 

“I have lost my position, Olive,” she said presently. 
“Mrs. Mathews gave me this paper, bidding me read, 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


157 


and told me with cold scorn that my services could be 
dispensed with. I did not blush with shame nor shrink 
before the cruel look she gave me, and the still more 
cruel words she spoke.” 

“Oh why will one condemn their fellow creatures 
at the first suspicious circumstance, never caring to 
seek for the real truth, which so often is completely 
hidden by these same circumstances,” she cried, with 
quivering lips, and sorrowful eyes. 

I thought of how Mrs. Ashley had waited and 
watched for the opportunity to crush my sister, who 
was as far above her as the stars. I had not the great- 
ness of heart to forgive the frivolous little creature, 
though I knew she was incapable of fathoming my 
sister’s character, and from her own narrow view must 
have felt herself deeply wronged. But I thought not 
of these things when I said, “Ulrica, you cannot now 
say that there is much good in Mrs. Ashley, when she 
has branded you in the eyes of the world as an in- 
famous fallen creature.” 

But she softly answered, “Remember, she knows 
nothing but the plain circumstances, and they are very 
condemning. Must I tell you again, hasty one, to 
judge not?” and she smiled in her own bright way 
once more. 

“Now, Olive, have done with useless repining,” she 
added, “for this must be borne and bravely, too, as 
must all misfortunes.” So she went about her evening 
tasks cheerfully. But well I knew that the cruel shaft 
of disgrace had left its sting in her heart. 

Meanwhile I perused the disgraceful story of that 
separation to the end. Dr. Ashley had been little 


158 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


respected on account of numerous escapades, but had 
been recognized in society for his wife’s sake, also for 
the sake of their supposed wealth. But this had sadly 
diminished with the continual draft of their enormous 
household expenses, his gambling and other wasteful 
expenditures and lastly, unfortunate speculations, until 
the inroad was so deep that a crash was imminent. It 
came with the breaking up of his household. 

After a terrible scene with her husband, on her re- 
turn home the night before, Mrs. Ashley in her mad- 
dened rage had fled, leaving all behind her, save her 
jewels and wardorbe. She had bitterly denounced her 
brother, accused him of being accessory to her hus- 
band’s deceptions. So it was that the poor petted child 
of wealth was herself adrift on the world ; for she had 
once told me that her brother was her only surviving 
relative. 

“What will she do?” I asked myself, “this woman 
who all her life has had servants to come at her beck 
or call. This woman who had scarcely performed 
a useful task in her life, this woman whaJiad declared 
that she could not bear even to enter the homes of the 
poor, or look upon extreme poverty. And now the 
grim-eyed monster was to enter her own door, not 
pausing to inquire if she could bear sight of his grew- 
some countenance, or list to the sound of his relentless 
oncoming footsteps. What indeed, was the fate in 
store for her.” 

The following day, I busied myself with prepara- 
tions for our departure. Should T receive a favorable 
reply to the application I had made for situations for 


CLIMBING THP: HEIGHTS. 


159 


Ulrica and myself, I intended to delay not an hour 
longer than was necessary. 

When I told Ulrica of my intentions, she said, 
'‘Olive, you think me so weak that I must flee from 
temptation, but I wish to remain here, and prove to 
you, to the world, and most of all to myself, that I can 
and will rule my spirit. Besides,” she added, ‘T can- 
not leave my poor friends.” 

"Remember, dear,” I answered, "the poor ye have 
always with you,” there will be other hearts to gladden 
with your sympathy and help. The change will benefit 
both,” I added firmly. 

For once I was obdurate. My determination to leave 
the place was not to be easily shaken. Though she 
knew it not, I felt that the time had come when she 
must receive help in overcoming this obstacle, that had 
risen serpent-like in her pathway, refusing to be sub- 
dued. Though crushed time and again by her mighty 
will power, it still flourished with a tenacity of life 
that was almost beyond comprehension. 

I went out during the afternoon to make some pur- 
chases. Dorothy accompanied me, as was her cus- 
tom, leaving Ulrica standing in the porch smiling at 
us an adieu. It was late when we returned and our 
little cottage was silent and dark. I felt a strange 
foreboding creep over me, as we hurried up the walk 
and entered the half open door. The silence was op- 
pressive, as though the weight of misfortune hung 
heavy in the very air. I called Ulrica’s name but there 
was no response. I lighted a lamp and looked about 
yes, looked for something. I did not know why it was 
that I seemed in such haste, nor did I know what it 


160 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


was for which I was searching, but search I did, at 
length finding that which deprived me, for the time be- 
ing, of all power of speech or action. In my hand was 
grasped a slip of note paper. I read: 

“Ulrica Dear: 

“I beseech you to see me this evening. Qh, do not 
deny my request. I shall be waiting down by the river, 
you know the spot, at eight o’clock. If you will, come 
prepared to go away with me. E. A.” 

Shocked, stunned beyond reasoning, I sank helpless 
into the nearest chair. I felt instinctively that mv sis- 
ter had fled with this man, deserting me and even her 
little child, that little child now was standing before 
me, with frightened face and tear-dimmed eyes, whose 
voice awoke my benumbed faculties to sudden life, 
as she cried, “Are you sick, Auntie Olive? I will go 
get mamma. Where is my mamma?” 

The red blood flew to my face in a mighty wave of 
shame and anger, when I realized that I could not 
answer the child. But my anger was not directed 
toward my sister, whom I would ever hold blameless, 
come what might. It was directed toward the man 
who had dared to make such a proposal to my pure, 
white-souled darling. Knowing the power he held 
oyer her, he sought to make true the guilt with which 
the world had already branded her. I thought of how 
immeasurable would be her despair when she realized 
her fall from' that high pedestal on which she had 
stood. “No, on which she stands,’"^ T declared fran- 
tically. , • ' : . .. . : 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


161 


I glanced at the clock. It was the half hour after 
eight, but I was not daunted. I grasped Dorothy’s 
hand and hurried out the gate, leaving her at our 
nearest , neighbors. I controlled my eagernes? to be 
gone as best I could, saying I would return shortly. 
I soon reached the highway which led to that place 
of meeting. 

“My darling needs me, oh she needs me,” I kept 
repeating over and over. Who in all the wide world 
was there but myself to sustain her in this crisis of her 
life? As I hurried on through the darkness I thought 
of my promise to my dying mother, and it lent wings 
to my feet. Surely my beseeching prayers would reach 
the ever listening ears of the loving Father, as I prayed 
so fervently that I might reach that place of meeting 
ere it was too late. 

At length I saw Ulrica a short distance ahead of me, 
alone, standing quite still as if undecided as to her 
next step. Then she went on. I tried to call out to 
her, but my voice failed me and I sank helpless to the 
ground, breathless ,and spent with fatigue. At that 
moment Dr. Ashley came forward to meet her, for he 
had perceived her at the same time as myself. She 
made not the slightest resistance when he took her in 
his arms and thrice kissed her upturned face. 

“Why are you so late, darling?” he asked in his old 
time tender tones. I could not catch her answer. 

“You will go, Ulrica?” he questioned. 

For answer she leaned her head on his shoulder, 
caressingly, yieldingly. She was lost! Oh, yes, she 
needed me I 


m 




eS^/ la^fsot^i^WacUga^ftetletn, 
<59J?}feYitll ni3,3jfjjjEb Jon asw I JncI ,trlgb 
oSJS^vftlJ'^as %9fiEMiTb0E sBfiBlI 

^rffO{ggiH}jAoyag 

s?M>ioifel»ftW3yoHi}»Wl^ tftWSe CBiHbo’ I Jasd 900^ 
Ashley pushed me back roughly, saying, 


wfr eflv/ 

fF^fl8‘§»J 9l^&trIJ m«b§M'^rt‘'PW, '^}ik 


klfe 


bnfi 


isdlom ^antyb ym pi saimoiq yrn lo 
„ ##?rl»^9% Yfft 9lrf W TP^'bj 

y^l[mi>!.F9^lTO'M9lflPnfeiai%^ Sftj 

Y°FKll,*roB9i Jrl;sira, I, JjsriJ vlJnav.isJ oa 
^me ihan you afe, 

889lql9n >lnB8 1 bnB sm bsliBi aoioy ym jud psri 
iA .orJsiiBl Hiiy/ in9q8 bna ,88^diB9id J^npOIS 

^9B^^^?2vnT^;*B.§BPiP|rr?6?^S?dl ifi i9d bayboisq bfid 


m8H!?Fh?Sf^9d8^fet-p§^^s5ir^(hg Qmd(biw(^t^/ bf 
mine h^^g/5>^eji^rfiq5,j£^|\(^ }ian^f(ft55[ei9^1d s&fri 



CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


163 


him take away the one treasure of my life and drag 
her to depths of desp^^ Q£.w^kh.^n I could have no 
conception. No, a thousafta times no ! 

I racked save 

her. I prayed, as I had before, 

for inspiration, to td,^rfmflwhiat^i# ^^yjcPli #1 Ji this 
most tryi;^5jjdifB§w8 bnB ritgnsita 11 b ni isrioiH 

“Ulrica,” I at length'-q^j^d ‘^Uhnk feit you 

than vour Eternal Hooe?” _ 



HB bnB rlaiBrl 8 Bv/ tl 

.sijjtBn llBma rlafllsa a'nBm 3flt lo 


9 VBf{ noy ,3m ^oi gnirbon 91bo noy JIb isIIb narIT** 
ot gnimni ,biB2 3fi "‘i eesniqqBfl ym lol idguodt on 


.BoiilU 


^^d nr gnii b dhw ,ylbo8 b3i3w8nB sda ,rIO‘' ' 

3 rit lol rlgnorlt svBrl 1“ ,^B^f^ ol boog 8BW tBflt 83no) 
odi modi daiv/ I irj3 .ao-iniBOio gnivil IIb Io aaoniqqBd 
doidv/ iBdi ion ,gnii8Bl ai bnB atlilqn doid// aaoniqqBd 
'\yold8A .iQ .yiBinomom ind ai bnB nwob modi agBib 
looi bhjoo noy daiv/ I iiBod ym moiU ; bonniinoo oda 
lovon lliw noy ind ; inomom aidi ni ob I .isdi yo[ odi 
olm oi mBol noy liinn ,ar aaoniqqBd Iboi isdw wond 
".idgii io odBa odi lol ihiqa inoy 
iBod oi o-iBO ion ob I” ,ylinoiiBqmi boho od '\dfia“ 
.noy daB I omit iasl odi lol briB ,oiom oonO .normoa b 
ion 10 ,om diiv/ omoo noy Iliv/ 
I i^Bod ym mol'd*' .boiowanB BoiilU dgia b diiV/ 

”.oyd booO .yoIdaA .iQ ,noy yliq 
ilol ow bnB bnBd ym boqaBb oda yliiiwa gnirnn'l' 


CHAPTER XV. 

Broken measures, fine completeness, 

In the perfect whole : 

Life is but a day in fleetness 

Richer in all strength and sweetness, 

Grows the striving joul.” 

Evidently Dr. Ashley knew by the tone in which she 
uttered that one word that his case was hopeless ; for 
when he spoke again his voice had lost its tender per- 
suasiveness. It was harsh and angry, telling too surely 
of the man’s selfish small nature. 

“Then after all, you care nothing for me, you have 
no thought for my happiness?” he said, turning to 
Ulrica. 

“Oh, yes,” she answered softly, with a ring in her 
tones that was good to hear, “I have though for the 
happiness of all living creatures. But 1 wish them the 
happiness which uplifts and is lasting, not that which 
drags them down and is but momentary. Dr. Ashley,” 
she continued ; “from my heart I wish you could feel 
the joy that I do in this moment; but you will never 
know what real happiness is, until you learn to rule 
your spirit for the sake of right.” 

“Bah,” he ^ried impatiently, “I do not care to hear 
a sermon. Once more, and for the last time I ask you, 
will you come with me, or not ?” 

With a sigh Ulrica answered, “From my heart I 
pity you. Dr. Ashley. Good bye.” 

Turning swiftly she clasped my hand and we left 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


166 


him standing there in the shadow of the trees. A very 
jjart of the darkness itself, he was. 

In silence we hurried along the dusty highway, my 
heart too full of thanksgiving for any words. I stopped 
to fetch Dorothy who was tearfully watching for me. 
Ulrica kissed the tearwet face of her child with trem- 
bling lips. When we reached our little gate and passd 
up the walk to the door of our cottage, she cried out 
suddenly, “Oh, Olive, never was storm-tossed mariner 
so joyed at sight of native land and home, as I to see 
this spot once more. Never was the waiting earth 
more gladdened to feel the first kisses of the morning 
sunlight, than I to feel these boards beneath my feet. 
Never was mother thrilled with greater joy by the cry 
of her first born, than I by the familiar sounds which 
greet me about our little home.” 

And when I had lighted the lamp I saw that her 
face was all a quiver with joy. Her eyes rested upon 
each object in our parlor even as one who had wan- 
dered in strange lands for years and had but just re- 
turned to satisfy the yearning gaze with the sweet 
sights of home once more. 

When Dorothy was asleep for the night, Ulrica came 
to me taking both my hands and said, “Olive, never did 
woman have a truer or more faithful friend than 1. 
The service you have rendered me this night, who can 
measure it’s greatness. I want to tell you, dear, how 
T hearkened to the voice of the tempter. When that 
note came to me I had no intention of complying with 
the request it contained. As the moments passed by, 
my thoughts centered more and more upon him ; as 
the hours drew near I could not resist that power 






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me, I knew in that nrqgjggJ 

?^p tetP'^lpfeft/bBWght 

-wM fi9w4w?Bcidi9Argri tesftw fiba^ 

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hstening, longing for fire atrf^ia 

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i°ff8i?iWrTOi feReibilfb dP ffliSfeiigMt, 
””’ '' " 'baistnso aJdpuQrlt yrn 






!VItoy2W€r4' tfte^a%h6f9flfei¥4c0fya!P5fi>S«P teei^Tft 
had deemed her friends. 

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hgffWiie Srfggsom(5fefJoi]Siitfc>^ffi% ffghf^'n he?w«; 
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I believe that he would make gfood. his word, 

hp9f rat ■ " '"' 

fffel 'f3?''Bv3"P^{\frS^ 


p,'-filiVS 


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MSf^s65?^ ^fhofib^P 


168 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


over and over for my kindness, though it was not I 
to whom thanks were due. 

The following morning at dawn we took our de- 
parture. As we passed through the gate I turned 
and looked with regretful eyes upon the familiar 
scene, even then longing for the time when we should 
return. Oh, would that we had never beheld the 
spot again! But it was not to be. Many misgivings 
assailed me, during that long journey, although I 
knew I was doing a wise thing in putting the space 
of many miles between my sister and Dr. Ashley. 
Still we were fugitives, for I could not rid me of that 
haunting fear of Mark Warren. So it was that none 
save Mary Hanson and her mother knew our destina- 
tion. 

When we arrived at Sacramento, I procured tickets 
for Ballard station. A ten-mile run brought us to a 
quiet peaceful little village nestled among green foli- 
age at the base of a sloping hill. A carriage was in 
waiting. The driver bowing, cap in hand, inquired 
if we were the ladies whom Mrs. Ballard had sent 
him to meet. Receiving an answer in the affirmative, 
he set Dorothy on the cushioned seat and we fol- 
lowed. Soon we were speeding along a smooth 
country road, bordered by most luxuriant growth of 
shrub and vine and blossom. A two-mile drive 
brought us to a stone gateway through which %we 
passed on up a broad, sweeping avenue, where, on 
either side stood nmerous tall poplars, whose slender 
upright branches, finger-like, pointed skyward. The 
flush of sunset lay over the palatial mansion that 
burst full upon our view, as we swept round a curve 


CLIMBlNa THE HEIGHTS. 


169 


in the avenue and came to a standstill at the foot 
of the broad steps leading to the wide entrance. The 
doors were thrown hospitably open to welcome us. 
My heart warmed to those open doors. 

I stood a moment and reveled in the beauty of the 
scene about us. That indescribable hush which ever 
follows the departure of the day king seemed to per- 
vade all space. The air was heavily laden with per- 
fume of honeysuckle blooms, whose parent vine cov- 
ered the whole front of the first story, reaching to 
the veranda above, which ran around the front and 
south side of the entire dwelling. A tall observatory 
in the center gave added height and grandeur to the 
lofty massive building. As we ascended the steps 1 
caught a glimpse of the gardens stretching away to 
the south, and even with that one glimpse I likened 
them to the garden of the gods. 

The housekeeper, a cheerful-faced woman, stood at 
the door. 

“Mrs. Ballard is a great invalid,” she said, “but she 
v/ill be pleased to see you when you have rested.’’ 

Calling to a young woman, who evidently was in 
waiting, she said, “Nannie, you may show these ladies 
to the rooms prepared for them.” 

We were conducted up a broad flight of stairs, 
which outrivaled Mrs. Ashley’s in grandeur. Wealth, 
luxurious wealth, surrounded us on every side. We 
were each assigned a room directly off the main cor- 
ridor. Nannie left us, promising to return within the 
hour and conduct us to Mrs. Ballard’s apartments. I 
immediately took a mental inventory of my surround- 
ings. Tall glass doors led to the veranda on the 


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of the building on thebn^^rtinItsldeuebThi^ "gltl ctiappddr 
ljgW^5?!Pi96h^f/^p«itaBd4)dn^ari a heaptyd'kdm'ddlyYTOce 
bade us enter. I looked at the invalid, I mu^cddm^^ 
^rj(Purli)$^lyd^f6'ri )bfifoiieJim«gwasi iphrJ4c:^'^ci- 
men t!).tbj^l^^(iib^diihrf)od|(as ©necrtiightdj^hGldUiY 
df^yi§btf^v©hv/ SherfS^rrai^mGy korti feeihi^^sy 
|2fef!i61^Jl4ibeJ^{(D^it/jariplunapobeirm^'Pd};hari^Un:^ 
ing, but as if suddPhlM9rfemehillMTiqgi(be»rii»^&l‘jdfe#il 
s{i^B^feoj)^pedrI^ffti iJactbink lyiouMtlaiaKreofalleinvbut/^ 
yte^WAvh^j^ia^ i«^i ttl® 'im bfiVanxrel^fi )tiiey i i bj o r I o i ri v/^ 
3'^Ah^55^ir/f^3 ^(aiBn a[)'gmat)-iim2alidfi9sh©.i^sp©d,I 
'NaBnib to(£airLGHern^iHoW©^©r3ih<y 
atir^n^hrjoit^I, haVbboenreJt/anxiehkt 
tp n^fibfJlWqBsilbidtldSredJl^'aildil tanbiqccdtbrmilfeolf 
^teJLl^dP :tev$oWAlbl3f^urbddin9fJi hai^be^ntg^^hsitifd 
WJsljp^adiftdiwitfb^isigh.bsI ^^oob 22 bI^ IIbT .2:gni 




m 


\)jy iKj uur y^x>i i:ju i 

alOfte-(P{l,C}ijra%sfi ^^e’^ngfalnsm arlj 
“Send- •■' 

.WdWi S-W^atea-Farra WfafieS-iftl ... . 
*pP8e-il>9'i9^ri1o- ,bf£j 


'',<i'rn'Wtli3Wat9/6W« 


b3iu)n3v I 


on the morrow. Soon the two ht^^j^rl 
appearance, Dr^g|^|rcpn*y,^(^ryr)eftfqii^‘fS!,eand 

' t9«'‘;iW%7a^^QffdW"iafte4uV"f}§a 




5»i}3iSan^rftf'-he5,|?^)l«ftt?oy|'ibe- 
SBPPWljWJtMlh^fn >%^e ^^and;3.jf3flipil„«hpfl;igjjsf)g 

‘BSPqfo/ik ‘-mi^grj” dfJuitTitgi^^fPjgas^gnt 


•',3V. , _._ ^ 

quite evident to me that this woman was 

e.4 a95iE'faaiS°,'Rt.®fe.q fij^,feii4^i%rl5ofidv^?i^bUqYfaP-. 

«}ft'<4n99l Hgfj§9f)P94) 

OJ banadil 

abfe 

W^dv9^^aiP6a"/AVP9'ff''e“ilB98tafe5^t'^i6iiF»sS;>y'6 

ac^iijflld^flft^fyjfao^ispjyrsj^najadifejngfg 


172 


CLiMBlNa THE HEiaHTS. 


wholesome routine of daily life. Her bright brown 
eyes were full of snap and her face full of good red 
blood. “Invalid, indeed,'’ I mentally ejaculated. 
“How selfish of me," she suddenly cried, glancing at 
the timepiece on the mantel. “See it is eleven o’clock 
and you must both be weary from traveling." 

I ventured to inquire as to our respective duties. 
Laughing pleasantly, she said, “The very first require- 
ment that I shall make of you both is that you must 
carry smiling faces." 

"But first in the morning," I began. 

"Rest yourselves," she answered kindly, and tap- 
ping a little bell on the table beside her, Nannie 
made her appearance. 

When we regained our rooms there was Dorothy 
tucked away in mamma’s bed, sound asleep. Evi- 
dently were to be waited on as though to the man- 
ner born. 

The following '^orning Dorothy and Ulrica rose 
at dawn and the cn.. ‘ called to me that they had 
found a little flight of sw^ ■' which led from the 
veranda to the garden belo>v “We shall take a 
walk among the flowers, auntie,’’ cricv:; small voice 
in delight. 

Hastening my toilet that I might follow them, I 
stepped out on the veranda, but paused, enthralled hr 
the loveliest scene that had ever gladdened my eyes. 

At my feet stretched the garden which I had 
likened to "the garden of the gods." Great foliage 
plants spread their huge leaves abroad on either side 
of a winding gravel walk. Feathery ferns grew rank 
and tall beneath their sheltering shade. Semi-trop- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


173 


ical blossoms of every conceivable hue from the flam- 
ing poppy to the tall gracefully nodding Calla-lilies. 
Dafifodils which had stolen a part of yesterday’s sun- 
shine with which to deck themselves, made the place 
rich with riotous color. Bluebells reflecting the azure 
sky above grew in plenteous profusion. Long beds 
of purple, gold and white pansies, lifted wee, win- 
some faces skyward. Passion flowers and clematis 
wound their clinging tendrils about the snowy trellis 
work of little summer houses, four of which I could 
plainly see from where I stood. And even as I 
breathed in the cool dewy fragrance and listened to 
the sweet sound from voice of bird and insect, the 
whole scene was lit up by a flood of golden glory, 
changing dewdrops into myriads of sparkling diamond 
eyes that trembled as a light wind shook the blossoms 
on which they rested. Now indeed did the poppy 
flame and the daffodils glow. My eye wandered be- 
yond this enchanting garden to the broad, sloping 
sun-kissed meadows and fields and woodlands. Far 
in the distance westward, on the very verge of the 
horizon, a chain of blue-veiled mountains lay misty 
and dark. A slight movement below attracted my 
attention and I brought my wandering gaze back to 
the garden. It was the peculiar actions of a little old 
man, a very old man, who was concealing himself 
behind a tall laburnum bush peering through it’s 
foliage at my sister, in open-mouthed amazement. 
I concluded that he was one of the neighborhood, 
poor or possibly a tenant, so shabbily clothed he was, 
his garments rusty and tattered with age. An old 
torn straw hat which had been removed from his shin- 






inF.^iff'teaa'’ Hv" al^Mf qeefi YipHai^ wfg"S"'4et^! 

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afi¥riii39fMll '"p’S yda 

■f‘Woif<fSe4lWatff‘li¥'^9is9i{feAgfe"&t^t!.fl8, aismi^o 

a .!}f fhl^M§ftr904fftfe?ed Wi-A?l,’-f(9fVPSlP2 

iite?n£trta!feifei?/#rB^"4Ri?g£P6wa |Wd‘ ^tw:" 
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b4autyp3S{!ll''"flii|'’"aP®'HiP'?^l86a;^^v4Mrf>3£V4W£' 

bnjj biia lo ooiov rnoii bnuos isov/s 6m 

c<!lMg£#o96tKVffl4fe #da'ffl,fMS(143&W?6 
hlFJ'¥da'%Pf 

bsabni v/o/i .b^jaoT ’(3nj noinv/ no 

Pftafffe. Mfft#'^a#"^&(lP£ 

in'^fts 2v/ob£3m bsaaiyF-nn^ 

9fb lo 3^i9v yiav ^f{^ no \b*iBwl 20 w sons j sib srfl ni 
Yisim sniBjnnom bsliav-auld lo niBiio b ,nosiiorI 
vm bstOB-i^lB vz-olsd jnarndvom Jrl-gils A .d'i'b bns 
oJ doBd 9SB^ ^^niiabnBv/ ym jd'i^noid I bnB noijnajjB 
bio alllil B lo snoijDB iBiIuoaq aril sbv/ II .nsbiB^ drij 
IbsrnrrI ^nilBSDnoo sbv/ orlw .nBm bio /i3v b ,nBrn 
?!U fl^uoTfll ■;^nn39q rlsnd rrmmndel Ilsi b brridgd 
JnsrnssBfriB bsflJuorn-noqo ni vm Jb o^silol 

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,SEY/ .3fl bsdiob vliddBfls os ^nBnsi b yidissoq lo looq 
bio riA .3^B rliiv/ baisilBi bnB ^^isni sinsmiB^ siil 
-nirls srri rnoil boyomsi nasd bfirl rbiriv/ tBrI wbiIs rnoj 


.8TiioiaH aiiT 


8TI 


,moo‘i srij bsialna nfirn bio shbl b jnsmom iBfli lA 
ol bsDnBvbB 3fl ^nilirne 


.id^nBiia 9*tiln3 

■I’o^Mon^- 


w' aWi^d'Mh^tugto; 


I .019V/ ov/ olorlw 
3£w art rIA 


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bfiB ^nivBv/ 

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200 
-ob 

-at 


01 ov/ lorbo 


.ot3‘'aaf^%PW aJnam-iBg 

on bjTI . 1 ^/// fionm rnoii .wocilo L^b 


m 


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ni^sBv/ 0l0fI^ bsrli bobb 
J^nivi^|ioq nO .rnirl 
ifoffBnBl bnB bBOfI lorl 
'“Imri lorl jB vIInkloBOiq 


7/ ,io^nB 

JB . 02 iiq 


Wfo ea26ffteV7rF(?,*d"feffi‘‘ 

aiWellfoilcmed ^fh^I 

spadblrsrvhallwajy^i piagr>'4rhei pd?!or' 'affldf i8fbJ'St7 

large airy apartment whb&gsdeprs Il^iftedotl^XfnW^ 
thenigbndend 'Mtstv/Bailfalrdl 
kindly rranneelofl thf.p^rdvfljti^ifev^filfig. 
heavily, she said, “An invalid’s life is irf^dd'^^^drlaf^i 
on/^iMdIIrrdi(jf[ttO[t (Slqe^rwjell/MatiJiigM.’B oEfeq2spaia:- 
li^lg eyiefir|0ndiM<f>®tmiH^ chedl£S^/b«Med8fhiei:bifoids,Bb:iSUbi 
I ] lex^ndjjdvmyos^^mjdtkte;^ folriHjckfneWr^hroi-iinidt^iiDfil') 
indu'ligfid pin ^hife Iwhiih) dfnhdrsfniorioAvhim nil sunolnro 
was. .oMbI ot lofi bBoI 


lUr^^nlkpi om ’il^PM«a>ly)f^rjg!UF|§tPatbfIJ<§^tt2 
s?l§d’ ?ni .^jy^^a^ithB 

valid; Jn^y^f^i^^^tep^tiftpp^i 5 t^.)’ 92 B 0 b od blnov/ it 


176 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


At that moment a little old man entered the room, 
smiling and bowing most politely as he advanced to 
where we were. He did not seem an entire stranger. 
Ah, he was the self same man of the garden. Wait, 
could I be mistaken? This man’s hair was heavy, 
waving and jetty, the few chin whiskers he possessed 
were of the same sable hue, whereas those of the 
other were as white as snow. Neither were this man’s 
garments tattered, though they were glossy at knees 
anrl elbow, from much wear. But no, I finally de- 
cided that there was no mistake. His smile betrayed 
him. On perceiving him, Mrs. Ballard threw back 
her head and laughed long and loud. He looked re- 
proachfully at her and then reproach gave place to 
anger, when she would not cease. Noting my sur- 
prise, at length she said, “Pray excuse me, Mrs. 
Blackburn, this is rny father.” “Father,” addressing 
him, and pointing to my sister, “you may call this 
young lady Ulrica.” There was a merry twinkle in 
her eye, at which I wondered. 

“A lovely name, suited to the owner,” he said in a 
highly pitched voice, as he bowed before my sister 
most gracefully. 

She spoke a few kindly words to him, and believ- 
ing as I did, that he was a dependant upon his 
daughter-in-law’s bounty, gave him her svmpathy at 
once. He was charmed and offered her his arm to 
lead her to table. 

“Ulrica,” said Mrs. Ballard quickly, striving to 
smother her laughter, “allow me to lean on you, I 
am so weak. I would ask father to assist me, but 
it would be a case of the blind leading the blind.” 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


177 


“I don’t see why a man in the prime of life should 
be unable to assist you, Madam,” he said darting an 
angry glance at his smiling daughter, as he stepped 
nimbly to his place at table. In a most embarrass- 
ing manner he riveted his gaze on my sister’s lovely 
face, all during that breakfast hour. 

Mrs. Ballard at length broke the spell by inquiring, 
“Father, when will Horace return?” 

“In about two or three weeks,” he answered short- 
ly, looking crossly at her for interrupting his con- 
versation with my sister. 

“Who is Horace?” I ventured to inquire, as I had 
not heard his name mentioned before. 

“He is my good-for-nothing spendthrift son,” was 
the answer I received. 

“Ah, I did not tell you of him last night, because 
any poor words of mine could not do him justice,” 
cried Mrs. Ballard, her eyes kindling to positive 
anger, as she looked straight at the absent one’s de- 
tractor, who excused himself abruptly and left the 
room. Evidently he entertained little good feeling 
toward his son. 

“Sit here a little while, and I will tell you of 
Horace,” said Mrs. Ballard, as I was about to ris^ 
also. Then began a description of such a paraq-on 
that I quaked inwardly at the prospect of living under 
the same roof with such a one. 

“Oh, we are all lost when Horace is away,” she 
declared with a doleful sigh, “but I believe he is 
about to close a deal on some silver mines in Nevada 
which he is overseeing and then he will remain at 
home.” 

“He supports his father?” I ventured to say. 


178 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


“Indeed, his father’s wealth can scarcely be estimat- 
ed,” she answered in surprise. And this woman, who 
had no family secrets proceeded in this wise : “Why, 
father has large interests in those mines which Horace 
is attending to. He also owns the large estate join- 
ing this. Almost the entire village belongs to him. 
In fact his income is a score time larger than my 
own, and yet he never gave Horace the advantages 
of an education ; but put him to the plow, making him 
a common field hand, before he was twelve years of 
age. Through it all he has been a most dutiful son, 
and since my husband’s death, has managed my 
estate, for which I pay him as large a salary as is 
practicable. And what do you suppose he does with 
it?” she cried, her eyes glowing in worshipful ad- 
miration. 

“Indeed, I cannot even guess,” I answered, smiling 
at her enthusiasm. 

“He gives it all away, all, all,” she declared. “Oh, 
there are many who rise up and call Horace Ballard 
blessed,” she went on seriously. 

“If you could just go through the old Manor 
house, which is on the next estate, you would learn 
more than I can tell you. Each room in that vast 
building is occupied by an oppressed, underpaid field 
hand and his family. They call Horace their guar- 
dian angel. Oh, but you should know him,” she 
finally concluded, “my description of him will seem 
tame, indeed. There isn’t a man, woman or child 
on either estate who could exist without him.” 

In my sister’s eyes she found her enthusiasm re- 
flected, and turning to her with a smile, said, “That 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


179 


reminds me, Ulrica, part of your duties will be to 
look after my poor, and Horace’s, too, till his return. 
Give me your arm, Ulrica,” she said abruptly, “and 
I will try to walk to the school room, those stairs do 
tire me sorely.” 

After pausing to rest many times we at length 
reached our destination. Mrs. Ballard sank into an 
easy chair, seemingly exhausted. 

“Now, Ulrica, I will hear you play,” she said, 
pointing to the open piano. 

After my sister had rendered with marvelous skill 
several selections asked for, she was delighted. “Why, 
I am indeed fortunate in securing such a gifted musi- 
cian for my children’s instructor,” she said, “and I 
shall allow you to use your own judgment in teach- 
ing them. I fear their education has been sadly 
neglected and of music they have no knowledge what- 
ever. Do the best you can with them and I shall 
be satisfied, and under no pretense must you neglect 
your own child,” she added kindly. 

For answer my sister crossed over to her and raised 
one plump, beringed hand to her lips. 

“Oh no, Ulrica, you may kiss my cheek if you 
wish.” 

This my sister did, gladly, gratefully. 

“Now Mrs. Blackburn, help me to my rooms,” she 
said, “and we will have a good long talk. Indeed, 
of the two, I think your duties will be the more irk- 
some,” she added, “for you must listen to all I wish 
to say, you know, and I dearly love to talk.” 

Laughing gayly she took my arm, and we left my 
sister with her little pupils. It was thus we entered 


180 CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS 


upon our new duties, and each day seemed more 
pleasant than the preceding one. Swiftly, lightly in- 
deed did those days pass by. There was none but 
bright faces and happy hearts around us, unless it 
was Mr. Ballard, who was a perpetual source of 
amusement to his daughter-in-law. 

She made light of him on every possible occasion, 
which at times seemed almost cruel. In return she 
received black looks and angry retorts at which she 
always laughed the more. 

A fortnight passed in this manner, when Mrs. Bal- 
lard commissioned my sister to drive over to the 
Manor House and fill out a deficit in the rent of one 
of the tenants. “There has been sickness in the fam- 
ily,’' she said, “and they may need funds. Father 
will eject them at once, if the exact amount is not 
forthcoming,” she further explained, “he does busi- 
ness in a queer manner. For instance, instead of de- 
ducting the amount from their wages, he prefers to 
pay them in full, and then collect the rent. Very 
often they are in such sore need of medicines, or 
some other necessary, that the money is used, and 
then he has the added pleasure of ejecting them. Oh 
you cannot imagine how unbending he is,” she con- 
cluded, “and while Horace is away, I look after 
them.’' 

Needless to say it was a commission that gladdened 
my sister’s heart. 

“Can you manage horses, Ulrica?” she asked, as 
we were about to start. “If so I will order the ponies 
and carriage brought round and the children may 
accompany you,” 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


181 


At that moment'Mr. Ballard came in and immedi- 
ately offered his services as driver, not being aware of 
our destination. 

“Indeed,"’ spoke up Mrs. Ballard^ “my children 
shall not risk being killed or maimed for life. You 
are unable to hold a two weeks old colt, father.” 

Giving her a wrathful glance, he stoutly declared, 
“A man in the prime of Hfe should be able to manage 
any horse you have in your stables, madam.” 

“Ulrica need not go this morning,” she said point- 
edly. . . 

He trotted out of the breakfast room without din- 
ing. 

“He often does that,” she said smiling. 

An hour later v/e ran down the steps and found 
the children already in the carriage, impatient to start. 
Soon we were speeding over the dusty roads toward 
the Manor House, on our mission of charity. 

During our drive Nellie and Clara vied with each 
other in praise of Uncle Horace, whom they talked 
of incessantly. They seemed to have no interests or 
pleasures that did not include him. After I had list- 
ened some time to their loving reminiscences of one 
who filled their small hearts with such adoration, I 
said, “He must be a good Christian."’ 

“Mamma says that he is better than a Christian,” 
answered Clara. “He never does bad things and then 
prays and believes he is forgiven. He is always 
good,” she declared proudly. The little ones begged 
to be driven down a by-road, and cross a little stream 
where we might view a lovely bit of scenery. After 
complying with their wish we paused a few- minutes 


182 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


to admire the cool, refreshing beauties of the wood- 
land. Proceeding on our way at length, we turned a 
curve in the road and found ourselves in the dusty 
highway again, a little beyond our intended destina- 
tion. A few steps in front of us was a rickety one- 
horse wagon, heavily laden with household goods and 
drawn by a poor emaciated old mule, that appeared 
to be too weak to stand under the weight of the har- 
ness. The driver, walking along side was swearing 
lustily and lashing it fiercely with a long whip. 

My sister stopped the carriage instantly and sprang 
to the ground. 

“Oh sir, I beg of you to stop,” she cried, going up 
to the amazed driver and taking the whip from his 
hand. Leaning her pitying face against the poor 
brute’s neck, her voice full of pain and tears, she 
cried, “Oh that such things must be.” 

The animal turned round its head with a nitiful look 
in its dull sunken eyes, and regarded her as if in won- 
der. 

“Oh there is Uncle Horace,’.’ exclaimed both little 
girls at once, as a young man, dusty and travelworn 
came quickly up. 

“How is this Henry?” he asked, in the kindliest, 
deeply tender voice I had ever heard, as he took the 
bridle reins in his hand and patted the noor beast 
kindly. My sister raised her eyes to his face, those 
eyes that were bedewed with the tears of pity that 
were ever read to heal the woes of helpless and suffer- 
ing creatures. She found an answering pity in the 
honest blue eyes that met her own with such a 
strangely tender light in their depths. In silence he 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


m 


raised his hat to her, that tender light growing still 
deeper as he regarded her. 

By this time Clara and Nellie were both clamoring 
for a kiss of greeting. Meanwhile Henry had stood 
completely abashed, tears of mortification standing in 
his eyes. Horace Ballard turned and took his hand 
with a kindly clasp and said, “Henry, I know it is not 
your fault that poor old Beck is starving. Tell me 
how it is.” 

“You see,” the man began, “to-day is rent day and 
I was behind with the money. Your father come over 
early this morning, had me called from the field and 
demanded that I vacate at once. I knew how useuess 
it would be to ask him to wait, so I thought if I could 
make it to the city by night, I might get to work right 
away. Old Beck has worked all summer with scarce- 
ly any feed. You see, I can’t let my little ones cry 
for bread,” he concluded desperately. 

Horace Ballard shook his head sadly and began to 
unharness the old mule. 

“We will have one of the ponies haul your goods 
back,” he said, “I will do what I can for you, Henry.” 

The pony drew the load quickly back to the Manor 
House. While we waited for its return Horace Bal- 
lard came to the carriage and placed the little girls 
on the cushions. 

“Nellie,” he said smiling, “you must tell me who 
your new friends are. In all your letters you never 
mentior.ed a name.” 

“This is Mrs. Blackburn,’’ she said, waving her 
small hand toward me, “and she is just Ulrica,” point- 
ing to my sister, “and this is her little girl Dorothy.” 


184 CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


He noticed the child by a smile and pleasant word. 
Turning he looked at my sister, thoughtfully and said : 
‘T heard your name once before. When I was quite 
small I helped a little girl to run away from an unkind 
guardian who — ’’ 

“It was I,” she exclaimed, holding out her hand to 
him, a flash of gratitude lighting up her lovely face. 

Taking her extended hand with pitying sympathy, 
in his voice, he said: “You were cruelly placed for 
such a little child. I heard of you quite often, until 
your sister found you. I wrote to Isabel Horner and 
inquired about you, for I feared that you were not 
happy.” 

What was there about this man that caused one to 
forget himself completely when in his presence ? What 
was there in his voice whose deep music seemed so 
compassionate, so helpful, so soothing, so uplifting? 
What was there about him that drew one's heart to 
him with such golden chords of devotion? Why was 
it that every eye glowed with a new light as it rested 
upon his bonny face? Handsome, yes. I then and 
there mentally declared him the handsomest man I 
had ever seen, although a casual observer might have 
noted but an ordinary, well proportioned voung man, 
with close cropped brown hair, and pleasant face, with 
a tinge of melancholy in the thoughtful eyes. But 
when one heard the sound of his voice, or met the 
glance of the ever changing, serious eyes, they awoke 
to the fact that there was nothing ordinary about him. 
As Mrs. Ballard had said, no wonder that man, woman 
or child who had once known him, could scarcely exist 
without him. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


185 


Now that I had seen him, her description of him did 
indeed seem tame; and so is mine. What pen could 
paint the masterful personality of such a one, or that 
subtle, unseen influence which sprang from his own 
lofty soul, reaching out and encircling with compas- 
sionate love, each and every heart with which he 
came in contact. 

Oh it was good to see how Horace Ballard was 
welcomed home by old and young alike. When we 
reached the Manor House they crowded out to , shake 
hands with him; the children a perfect swarm of chil- 
dren, ran races to meet him; each one .received a hand 
shake or a gentle pat oh the head, and the little ones 
he raised in his arms and kissed. 

One small boy, raised the cry, “Hurrah for Horace 
Ballard.” Others took it up, tossing their caps high 
in the air with glee. He smiled and shook his head 
and there was silence in a moment. 

One woman came to him with an infant in her arms 
and he praised it, touching gently its tender little 
hand. 

An old man tottered out, and grasped his hand 
saying in a quavering voice, “Horace, boy, we’re glad 
to have you home again.” 

“No more glad than I am to be among you,” he 
answered. His own voice suspiciously near to tears. 

My sister watched the v/elcoming home of this man 
with thoughtful, eager eyes. 

While he went indoors to speak to a little child 
who was ill, we made friends with the little ones, who 
were not too shy to come to us. 

Referring to my sister, one small boy, whispered, 


186 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


‘*My, but she’s a stunnin’ beauty/’ another one 
agreed with him by a shake of the head and staring, 
admiring eyes. 

“An’ she’s none of them critters what flaunts round 
in silks afore poor folks, nuther,’’ whispered another. 

“Course not,” answered his companion, “she can’t 
afford it, she’s hired out to work for Mrs. Ballard, 
if such doin’s as learning them girls how to read an’ 
play on the piano can be called work.” 

“I don’t believe she’d do it nohow, if she could,” 
declared the first speaker. 

Thus our characters and general appearances were 
discussed quite freely while we awaited Horace Bal- 
lard’s return. But at length we found ourselves speed- 
ing toward home again, and he turned to me and in- 
quired solicitously, “How is father? Does he seem 
quite well?’’ 

“I never hear him complain,” I answered, wonder- 
ing greatly how he could show so much good feeling 
for the ill-conditioned old creature. 

“T am glad to hear that,” he said quickly, “I feared 
he was failing from the way Dora wrote.” 

When we reached home his welcome was as royal 
as it had been at that other place. The cook rushed 
from the kitchen, beflouring his hands with her own, 
at which he laughed and whitened her face in return. 
The gardener who was trimming and tying up the 
vines on the lower veranda, catching sight of him 
threw twine and shears to the ground and ran to greet 
him. Nannie came to give him her share of the wel- 
coming home and he kissed the girl lightly on the 
forehead. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 187 


“I am going to tell mamma/’ cried Nellie, scamp- 
ering off, but with a laugh he said, ‘T shall get there 
first,” and sprang up the steps two at a time, after 
the child. 

However, Mrs. Ballard had heard his voice in the 
hall, and came running from her room, and met him 
on the landing, her invalidism completely forgotten. 
She had her arms round his neck in an instant and 
cried, “Oh Horace, I never, never was so glad.” 

“Why Dora, I am surprised to find you so well,” 
he exclaimed. “Where is my great invalid now?” 

She flushed with chagrin as she saw me on the 
stairs. “It was the pleasure of seeing you, Horace, 
that gave me new life,” she answered. “Indeed I can 
scarcely stand alone now.” 

“Oh yes, you can, Dora,” he laughed, and giving 
her a little push, stepped back and left her standing 
unsupported, a perfect picture of health and strength. 

I offered her my arm and assisted her back to her 
rooms, while Horace Ballard was dragged off to the 
school room between Clara and Nellie, to hear them 
play their first tune. 

We met again at the dinner hour. Mr. Ballard 
came in the dining room promptly at one o’clock, 
trigged out in his best attire, with what he believed 
a most enticing smile in his weazened face. Horace 
Ballard gazed wonderingly at his father for a time, 
and then grasping his hand, cried, “Why, father, how 
well you are looking. I am indeed glad to find vou 
so.” 

“Oh, you are back,” was the only greeting he gave 
his son. Neither was there any welcome in look or 


188 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


tone. “Why shouldn’t a man in the prime of life look 
well?” he asked tartly, evidently displeased at the 
praise he had received. 

“Did you attend to everything, positively every- 
thing ?” he asked sharply. 

“Everthing settled satisfactorily, father, awaiting 
your signature,” he answered. “1 wired you to that 
effect. Did you not receive it?” 

"Is it possible that you wasted money sending a 
telegram ?” exclaimed the other angrily. "Let me see 
how much you have spent on this trip,” he demanded. 

“Here is an itemized account of my expenditures,” 
handing his father a slip of paper. 

The old man ran his eye rapidly down the column 
of figures and exclaimed angrily, “Here I find a large 
amount, fifty dollars of good hard cash, given to some 
beggar. Sir, how dare you give away another man’s 
money in this manner?” 

He was rapidly working himself into a passion when 
he saw my sister's surprised, shocked glance and he 
smothered his ire as best he could. 

Horace Ballard’s answer came in soft and pitving 
tones, “Father, had you but seen that poor widow, 
with her little baby, turned into the streets, you surely 
must have done as I did. We have so much, why not 
use some of it to—” 

“We?” interrupted the old man, “we? What have 
you, pray? You give everything away to beggars that 
you can lay hands on.” 

Horace Ballard made no answer to this accusation. 
“Better than a Christian.” How well the description 
suits him,” I thought, ^s I watched his face all soft- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


189 


ened, his eyes luminous with pity as he recalled that 
picture of a homeless mother and her child. 

Mr. Ballard turned his attentions to my sister. As 
we were about quitting the table he said in a com- 
manding voice : “Horace, I want you to go over the 
place and oversee the building of that new fence this 
afternoon. I have all I can attend to in watching 
those lazy beggars in the north field.” 

Truly, here was a man who had no time to waste, 
though he was heir to munificent wealth. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


“I think that sunlit streams of ma.s^ic powers 
From secret wells within your being glide; 
vSuch streams as rose when Gwydion gathered flowers 
And made her Lieu a bride. 

The strength that thrilled in Hermes’ wand of old 
Awakes again in you — a glow divine, 

The gay broom blossoms has not half the gold 
I see around your shine.” 

The troubled waters of my sister’s life seemed calm 
at last. Her days were passed in a pleasant routine 
of duties and her face began to reflect the peace and 
happiness of those around us. The autumn came 
with its delightful changes and the winter months 
sped by ; what a contrast were they to the snows and 
frosts of our eastern home. The month of February 
brought the beautiful garden flowers all out again in 
the glorious sunshine. 

One lovely evening Mrs. Ballard was helped to my 
room and immediately settled herself in the easiest 
chair it contained. We were sitting near the open 
window which led to the veranda, enjoying the breeze 
which came from over the garden laden with the 
fragrant breath of the early spring blossoms. She 
was soon occupied in relating how Horace Ballard 
and his father had lived up to the time of her hus- 
band's death, when she had insisted that they take 
up their abode beneath her own roof. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


191 


“And can you believe it, Mrs. Blackburn, they occu- 
pied one scantily furnished room in the Manor House, 
taking their meals with one of the families there, and 
father actually complained that he must pay Horace’s 
board, at the same time threatening to disinherit him 
if he did not stay at home and help manage the 
estate.” 

“I should judge that Horace” — yes, I had come 
to call him so long before — “was not one who would 
value the inheritance greatly,” I suggested. 

“Oh but he does,” she answered, “he takes a broad 
view of the matter, and knows by being patient and 
keeping in the good graces of his father, he can in the 
future, the better serve some of the poor and needy, 
for that is his sole desire in life, and I do believe that 
when the fortune falls into his hand it will be used 
only for the benefit of others. Oh, there never was 
another like Horace,” she declared, proudly. “I want 
you to see father’s room to-morrow,” she continued, 
laughing outright, as she mentally pictured it’s in- 
terior. “It was nicely furnished when he first occupied 
it. One day he asked me if he could do as he liked 
with the contents. Believing he wished to arrange 
them differently I readily gave my permission.” 

“Can you believe it?” and she laughed again, “he 
sold every article in that room, even to the blinds, and 
kept the sum they brought. Oh I just want you to 
see what is in there now.” 

As she paused for breath we heard a footstep in the 
garden, which seemed to stop directly beneath my 
s'ster’s window. Listening intently we soon heard 
the faint twang of a guitar and out on the night air 


192 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


floated the highly pitched voice of Mr. Ballard, raised 
in would-be tuneful melody as he attempted to sing 
a love dittye, evidently of his own composition, as 
follows : 

“O love, come out in the moonlight 
Where the flowers are all abloom ; 

O love, come out in the moonlight, 

Come out from that darkened room. 

“Come out to_one who is waiting. 

In the dewy cool of the night : 

Come out to one who is longing 
To see thy eyes so bright. 

“O, love, come out in the garden 
Open thy lattice, lady sweet : 

One word from thy red lips rosy, • 

And ril worship at thy feet. 

“O, love, come out in the moonlight. 

Glance from thy place above. 

With starry eyes, dark and tender, 

At one who you doth love. 

“O love—” • 

But the exact length of his composition was never 
ascertained, for Mrs. Ballard fairly choking with pent- 
up mirth, suddenly cut it short by leaning far out my 
window and calling, “Oh father, I did not know on 
loved me so. Behold! Behold! my lattice is opened 
wide. I come! I come!'’ 

Peal after peal of laughter rent the night air, so 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


193 


joyous and hearty and so prolonged that I could not 
n^sist the temptation to join in. Needless to say, we 
heard no more songs from him. But the black looks 
we received the following morning at the breakfast 
table -sent Mrs. Ballard into another paroxysm of 
laughter, at which he took fresh umbrage. That 
evening, my sister and Horace had gone to the ob- 
servatory, which was fitted out with a fine telescope. 
Most of their evenings were passed there, for my 
sister at last had the longed-for opportunity to study 
the stars, and nowhere could a more proficient 
teacher be found that Horace Ballard, despite his 
few chances of gaining knowledge in his childhood. 
I had intended going with them, but Mrs. Ballard, who 
had no more regard for the proprieties than had my 
sister, declared that she would not be left alone, and 
she could never climb those stairs, and becoming tired 
of her own room had come to mine, so that was how 
it came to pass that we heard the love song; intended 
alone for my sister’s ears. 

After Mr. Ballard had marched angrily out of the 
breakfast room and we were alone, again, Mrs. Bal- 
lard asked me, “Do you remember the morning after 
your arrival, how I laughed when father came in with 
that horrible wig, and his whiskers blackened in that 
ridiculous manner.” 

“Oh yes, I remember quite well,” I assured her. 

“I knew he was in love then,” she want on. “He 
must have cauglit a glimpse of Ulrica somewhere that 
morning.” 

“Indeed, I am very sorry,” I said, “and Ulrica will 
be grieved should she ever find it out.’’ 


194 


CLIMBING tHE HEIGHTS. 


''Oh she will find it out,” she declared with a little 
laugh. "Why he was so desperately in love with 
Maggie, the children’s former governess, that he 
threatened to kill himself because she so openly 
shunned his advances. Before she left us he hated 
her, just as desperately as he had loved her, and one 
day he tore off his wig in her presence and declared 
that his love went with it. He allowed his little rim 
of snow white hair to straggle over his collar, and the 
more unkept and untidy his garments the more pleas- 
ure he seemed to take in his appearance. Oh believe 
me, the wearing of that wig means love,” and the 
good woman laughed till the tears ran down her face. 

At the first opportunity I informed my sister of 
what had occurred and also what Mrs. Ballard had 
said in regard to her father’s infatuation for her. 

"Why, Olive, the idea is preposterous,” she ex- 
claimed. "No doubt the poor old man, knowing I 
love mrsic so well, thought to please me. Do you 
think it quite kind of Mrs. Ballard to make light of 
him so?” 

"It may not be,” I answered, "but he is certainly 
a ridiculous old creature.” 

"Well, well, dear, let us not enlarge upon his fail- 
ings,” she said. 

"You had best be a little more distant with him,” 
I warned her, as I turned to leave the room. 

"I cannot see why I should alter my manner to- 
ward him in the least,” she replied, "for I am posi- 
tive that you are mistaken, dear.” 

I said no more. I knew she was doubly kind to him 
because almost every one on the place ridiculed him. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


195 


and so from his standpoint she encouraged his foolish 
hopes. As the days sped by he became her constant 
attendant. During her rides and walks, though 
always accompanied by the children, he was to be 
found at her side. He even neglected to watch his 
men at their work, a thing he was never guilty of 
before. Horace was gone from early morning until 
the supper hour, overseeing the two estates. Mrs. 
Ballard was delighted at the turn affairs had taken, 
for it afforded her amusement, she often said, during 
her trying days of invalidism. 

One bright Sabbath morning she and I were still 
tarrying in the breakfast room, after the others had 
gone, when, glancing through the open door, she 
espied Mr. Ballard walking in the garden. Laughing 
gaily she pointed to him, and I could not refrain from 
smiling at his ridiculous attire. Surely, Solomon in 
all his glory, was never arrayed in more striking habil- 
iments. Imagine a tottering old man of eighty with a 
smirking smile on his weazened face, beneath his thin 
straggling jet black whiskers a scarlet four-in-hand, 
a befrilled shirt front, pantaloons of the brightest lav- 
ender hue, much too short and close fitting, no doubt 
a bargain had been gained in their purchase, a swal- 
low-tailed coat reaching almost to his knees, standing 
hat in hand, bowing and gazing up at my sister’s win- 
dow with his hand pressed to his heart. 

“Be sure you keep your valuables safely hidden,” 
cried Mrs. Ballard, between her bursts of merriment, 
“for father will make up this outlay at some other’s 
expense. 


196 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


I was shocked at the imputation that he would stoop 
to thieving. 

As we still gazed and admired a little gust of wind 
fluttered the old man’s waving locks a moment, and 
then, tearing them completely from their resting 
place, left his shining head revealed to the morning 
sunlight. Mrs. Ballard, at this, gave full vent to her 
merriment in screams of laughter, that could be heard 
to the uttermost confines of the garden. Glancing 
quickly at the open doors of the breakfast room and 
perceiving us, he darted behind a tall, foliage plant 
which completely hid him from view whilst the wind 
played pranks with his raven locks' at the other side 
of the garden. 

'‘Oh, I hope Ulrica saw him,” gasped Mrs. Ballard 
between ,-paroxysms of laughter. 

The children were also in the garden and rescued 
the delinquent wig from a thorn bush. 

‘T’ve got it. I’ve got it, grandpa,” cried Nellie, tri- 
umphantly running up. However, they soon came 
trooping to the breakfast room, Nellie looking a little 
crestfallen. 

“Mamma,” she said, “he told me to never call him 
grandpa any more, and that a man in the prime of 
life didn’t like to be addressed in that absurd fashion.” 

“Call him Blossom, Nellie, that will be sure to 
please him,” said her mother. 

Ah, could I but have looked into the future 
and known the horror that was to spring from that old 
man’s infatuation, I should not have been so mirthful 
and light of heart on those bright days. I was light of 
heart, indeed, for I believed I saw a smooth and shin- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


197 


ing path for my darling’s thorn-pierced feet to travel. 
I had discerned a secret that was yet not a secret. I 
could not mistake the quick, glad light that ever 
flashed to Horace Ballard’s eyes when they rested 
upon her. I watched for some answering sign on her 
quiet face, but in that I was disappointed, although I 
knew she held him very dear, as she had often told 
me. One day I asked her directly if she had promised 
to become his wife. She looked at me in amazement 
and laughed outright. 

‘‘Why Olive, you would have every one on the place 
in love with me. First Mr. .Ballard, who has never 
dreamed of such a thing, and now it is Horace. Who 
will the next one be, perhaps — ” 

“Yet, Ulrica,” I interrupted, “only last night I saw 
you walking in the garden with him, and when vou 
paused a moment to pluck a flower, he smoothed back 
your curls and kissed you. Do you tjiink you should 
permit such careeses?” 

“Oh but Olive, do I not permit you and Dorothy to 
hold my hands, and smooth back my hair and kiss 
me? Does he not kiss Mrs. Ballard and the children?” 
It is quite the same thing,” she said, positivelv. 

“It may be to you, Ulrica,” I expostulated, “but you 
must consider him; he is too noble to be led on by 
false hopes. You have no right to tempt a man so.” 

“Oh these earth tied ones, will they never under- 
stand ?” she excliamed, ruefully, while a light beautiful 
to see flashed in her eyes, as she resumed. “Horace 
knows me better than you ever will, Olive ; he is not a 
lover; he is a friend.” 


198 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


“Is he a Christian, Ulrica?” I asked, inwardly pray- 
ing that the answer would be yes.” 

“He is better than a Christian,” she said softly. 

I looked at her and understood. She had found one 
who also held her own strange beliefs, and in her un- 
bounded joy forgot that he was a man. I sighed 
wearily and said no more, for did she not ever out- 
argue me, on the question of religion? 

I was and am still a very Worldly Christian, but 
what was she? Never an infidel, nor yet an agnostic, 
for she possessed decided views and her religious 
ecstacies soared to heights which mine were incapa- 
ble of reaching. Yet was she a faithful follower of 
the man of tears, in all things that were plain to her 
understanding. The mysteries she would not accept 
as such, but set herself the task of unraveling. Ah, 
she was indeed ever a mystery to me. 

Her walks in the garden with Horace did not cease, 
and when I again expostulated with her for thus en- 
couraging his hopes for I could read him aright, though 
she could not, she said. “Now, dear, why will you 
persist in troubling your head about us? If you knew 
the comfort and help I derive from this companion- 
ship, you would not raise a single objection. Be- 
sides,” she resumed, “I am carrying on my studies in 
astronomy. Rest assured that no harm to any one 
can possibly come of it. Remember that Horace is 
my friend. Why he is next in my heart to you and 
Dorothy and — ” 

She paused suddenly. I did not need to ask why, 
as I saw the burning flush that swept her face. 

It was a bitter disappointment to know that her 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


199 


heart still clung to that worthless one, but I consoled 
myself with the knowledge that change is the law of 
time, so I let them alone thereafter and fate marched 
boldly on and did with them as she chose. 

My sister’s salary all went for the needs of some 
poor families in the city, of whom Horace had told 
her. In fact the price of her own and Dorothy’s 
clothing was paid from my own purse. All my ex- 
postulations were in vain, for ever would she paint in 
such glowing language the sufferings of some little 
child or aged person that must be relieved, that I 
knew my interference was useless. 

Oh, what a contrast was there between us? Mrs. 
Ballard often sent us to the city on shopping expedi- 
tions and while I selected the rich silks and laces that 
I was commissioned to purchase, my sister went 
about delicately proffering aid to the needy, giving 
freely her mite and what is oft times more valued, her 
ready sympathy and cheering, helpful advice. So it 
was that our views on all matters presented just as 
great a contrast as our acts, though I was forced to 
acknowledge that hers were ever the best, for they 
were devoid of all worldy vanity. She recognized but 
the goodly instinct of human nature. I the ones that 
made war with them. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“Man’s bliss comes never to him from without, 

The rich man buys his pleasures all for naught ; 

Love fills the soul and keeps it full of help 
For others ; sweet refreshment to itself, 

The good man has life’s fountain in himself.” 

Swiftly the days and weeks sped by. It was now 
the middle of March and Horace was spending sev- 
eral days in the city attending to some business for 
Mrs. Ballard. One evening my sister and I repaired 
to the garden and stood silently enjoying the beau- 
ties of our surroundings, when we were startled bv a 
creeping step quite near us. Instantly my thoughts 
flew to Mark Warren, for I still feared him. But no, 
it was Mr. Ballard who passed without perceiving us. 
With stealthy steps he entered the summer house 
close by, holding in his hand a small box. He seemed 
to be searching for something a moment and then^ 
began to displace the earth. My sister enjoined me 
to silence by placing her hand on my arm. Soon we 
heard the chink of coins as he emptied the contents of 
his box into the one already buried. 

“Xo music so sweet as this, none, none,” he mut- 
tered, as he picked up a handful of the coins several 
times, letting them fall back again. 

“A miser worshipping his gold,” I mentally ejacu- 
lated. “How disgusting.” 

Chuckling gleefully he closed the lid and raked the 
loosened earth over the box again. Lighting several 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


201 


matches in order to see how to cover all, traces of the 
secret hicHno^ place of his gold, he then left the spot 
and repaired to another part of the garden. 

“He must have another gold mine,” I said, after 
he had disappeared. “How horrible.” 

“Poor old man,” said my sister sadly. “How little 
that is good he experiences in life.” 

“He scarcely deserves pity, Ulrica,” I said some- 
what testily. 

'‘He deserves pity as surely as the veriest beggar 
who has but the pavement for pillow, Olive,” was her 
answer. 

After a time we climbed the little flight of steps 
that led to the veranda above, and found Mrs. Ballard 
awaiting us in my room. She had come to discuss 
her plans for the entertainment of her guests whom 
she expected to arrive the following evening. 

“We must have a general good time,” she declared 
gaily. “Ulrica, you may put aside the children’s les- 
sons until their departure.” , 

“There will be Mrs. Horner and her two daughters, 
Isabel and Grace; my mother’s old schoolmate, Mrs. 
Woodson, and her son; Mrs. Hendricks, a charming 
voung widow, also her brother and a friend promised 
to run up for a few days from the city. 

“I am such an invalid,” she continued ruefullv. 
turning to me, “that I cannot go out much, so I shall 
depend upon you and Ulrica to assist me in entertain- 
ing my friends.” 

We agreed to do our best and planned each day’s 
nrogramme for the house party before she left us. 
The following morning during breakfast she was 


202 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


again discussing the arrangements. Looking shyly 
at Mr. Ballard she said, in regretful tones, ‘Tf I had 
only been so fortunate as to secure Ralph Hampton 
our party would have been complete. I want you to 
meet him, Ulrica, he is so interesting and amusing. 
Young, rich and handsome, he is one to — ” 

Mr. Ballard darted an angry glance at her, and 
savagely interrupted her saying, ‘T can escort Ulrica, 
and amuse her, too. A man in the prime of life 
should be able to amuse anyone.’’, 

“I have no doubt that you will amuse every one 
who sees you, father,” she answered, with a little 
laugh. 

He scowled darkly at her^ but said nothing. 

We busied ourselves all morning in giving the 
guests’ rooms and the parlors the finishing grace that 
flowers alone can lend. 

‘T want red roses for Isabel,” said Mrs. Ballard as 
we were completing the arrangements of the sump- 
tuous apartments allotted to Miss Horner’s use, “for 
she always reminds me of a blood red rose.” 

“You must fight for your laurels, Ulrica,” she 
cried gaily, “for Isabel is a stunning beauty. I want 
you to wear black tonight, with yellow roses. You al- 
ways look so imposing in black.” 

My sister smilingly assured her that it should be 
as she wished. 

Ah, kind and generous hearted friend, sharing 
with us so freely, the delights of her beautiful home. 
We, who had known the pangs of unappeased hunger 
and the woes of utter destitution, were treated as be- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


203 


loved sisters by this tenderly nurtured daughter of 
vx^alth. 

The carriages were dispatched to the village and* in 
due time returned with the guests, whom I assisted 
Mrs. Ballard to receive. Mrs. Hendricks came first, 
a small, vivacious fair haired woman, who reminded 
me of Alice Ashley. Mrs. Horner and her daughter 
greeted their hostess effusively. Grace, a shy young 
girl spoke in a friendly voice to me, but' neither her 
mother nor sister deigned to notice me ever so slight- 
ly. A dear white haired old lady, Mrs. Woodson, 
came more slowly up the steps, leaning on her son's 
arm. Kissing Mrs. Ballard^s cheek she introduced 
the young man who glanced with admiring eyes at 
his hostess’ rosy face. Captain Woodson was tall and 
distinguished in appearance, with a soldierly bearing, 
a pleasant face and kind voice. 

Mrs. Ballard gave me permission to show Mrs. 
Woodson to the rooms prepared for her use. I was 
charmed by the kindness of her manner to me, but a 
paid companion as I was, and during the days that 
followed could not refrain from contrasting her with 
Mr. Ballard. She proved how delightful old age 
can be, he, how disagreeable and absurd. 

Later we all assembled in the dining room, except 
my sister, who begged Mrs. Ballard to excuse her. as 
Nellie was not well and desired her presence. Mrs. 
Ballard had given the desired permission to absent 
herself, with the proviso that she came to the parlor 
during the evening and play for us. 

I noted with amazement, the insolent beauty of 
Mijs Horner, as she entered the room that evening. 


CLiMBINa THE HEIGHTS. 


m 


magnificent in pale rose tinted silk, shrouded in fes- 
toons of foamy lace half revealing the beautifully 
curved throat and shapely arms. For ornament a 
single red rose, which did not outrival the full scar- 
let lips in hue. The rose tints on the rounded cheek 
were but little less pronounced. As the light fell on 
her shining braids, it reminded me of red lights flung 
full on a bazen shield. “A magnificent animal,” I 
mentally ejaculated, “but untamed.” 

There was no charm of manner there, but a proud 
haughtiness that ill became her. Passing me by as 
though I were an inanimate object she sank gracefully 
oh the settee by Mrs. Ballard’s side. 

“Horace is surely at home?” she said, inquiringly, 
raising the most beautiful pair of blue eyes I had e'»^er 
beheld, to Mrs. Ballard’s face. 

“No, he is in the city,” she answered, “but you 
may be sure it was very important business that took 
him away at this time,” smiling at the girl whose color 
deepened at thought of the hidden meaning those 
words conveyed. 

A sharp pain of jealousy pierced my hea.r. Per- 
haps after all, I was mistaken and Horace Ballard’s 
attachment for my sister was only friendshB. Whv, 
the bare suspicion that he might love this pi cud, beau- 
tiful girl served to make me most wretched. 

Soon Mr. Ballard came trotting in and not perceiv- 
ing my sister, inquired for her. 

“Of whom was he speaking?” asked Miss Horner. 

“Mrs. Blackburn’s sister,’ answered Mrs. Ballard, 
“and she is the sweetest girl in the world, Isabel, and 
quite as handsome as you.” 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


205 


. The good woman smiled mischievoujl)' at the. proud 
beauty’s scornful face. 

Captain Woodson had eyes for _.o one save his 
hostess, and a charming hostess s' i was inuced, in 
her black and white evening gown, witii diamonds in 
her pretty brown hair, at her throat and on the 
plump white arm. ‘TnvaUd indeed,” I thought, smil- 
ing to myself. Why she almost vied with Miss Hor- 
ner in robustness and rich coloring of cheek and lip. 

Soon after we repaired to the parlors, Mrs. Ballard 
requested me to go in search of my sister. As I rose 
to do her bidding Mr. Ballard also rose and declared 
his intention of fetching her himself. All during the 
evening he had been silent and morose, -scarcely 
speaking to any one. In fact, he had almost ceased 
to exist while out of my sister's presence. He had 
become an object of pity to me. He followed her 
about the house and grounds in a dog-like manner. 
He spent his mornings in the school room, and hail 
her teach him music for the sole purpose of being 
near her. He even made her presents of cheap little 
trinkets, such as hair ornaments and lace pins, which 
she accepted through kindness, and his delight was 
unbounded, when she decked herself with one of 
them. Mrs. Ballard watched the affair progress with 
increasing interest, finding in it much cause for mer- 
riment. Still my sister refused to believe it was 
other than friendship which the old man felt for her. 

What kept him from declaring his passion, I did not 
know, unless he was undecided as to how she would 
receive such a declaration. Yet his self-esteem \\as 
as prodigious as it was amazing. 


206 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


After a short tapse of time my sister made her ap- 
pearance, Mr. Ballard close behind her, smiling de- 
lightedly. She had arrayed herself as Mrs. Ballard 
had requested her; and I was proud, worldly proud 
of my beautiful sister as she advanced to Mrs. Bal- 
lard’s side, with a grace which no society queen could 
ever acquire, for she possessed that sweet humility 
which garlands pride, even as a festoon of swaying, 
clinging vines, lent untold grace to the upright un- 
bending oak. She always shone like a star in any 
society, low or high. Isabel Horner’s brazen beauty 
was eclipsed, and she knew , it, as my sister stood be- 
side her, her sweet face alight with friendly feeling, 
as she acknowledged their introduction. 

In that moment I knew that Isabel Horner hated 
my sister, hated her because she possessed that subtle 
charm which drew all hearts to her ; that charm which 
was born of the greatness of her soul, and which she 
herself lacked entirely. It was indeed that charm which 
finds its grave in selfishness and can only spring to 
life and be nurtured to maturity by utter self abne- 
gation. That charm was indeed, flourishing with 
tropical luxuriance in my sister’s breast. So great 
had its growth become that it pervaded her whole 
being and her very presence was a joy to those around 
her, as great a joy as an oasis in a sandy desert to 
the suflering sun-scorched traveler toiling across its 
trackless waste. 

After a few moments of conversation Mrs. Ballard 
said, 

“Ulrica, we must have some music. Let us hear 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


‘i07 


that beautiful sonata of Beethoven's that I think so 
grand.’’ 

Captain Woodson hastily arose, proffering his ser- 
vices in turning the music sheets. But Mr. Ballard 
also rose and waved him back, looking at the sur- 
prised young man angrily, as he cried peremptorily, 
“I can wait upon her, sir.” 

“Captain Woodson, I beg of you to render your 
services; father cannot see very well,” came Mrs. Bal- 
lard’s voice, suppressed laughter in its tones. 

‘T don’t see why a man in the prime of life shouldn’t 
see well, madam,” answered the old man transferring 
his anger to her, and glancing darkly in her direc- 
tion. 

Miss Horner smiled snceringly as she watched my 
sister’s unconscious face, as she seemed lost to out- 
ward events in the rendering of the divine music that 
was thrilling and holding captive its hearers. With 
her quick insight into worldly ways no doubht she 
read at a glance the old man’s infatuation. Indeed, 
all who ran might read the truth in his eyes as he 
stood near, gazing into my sister’s face. All might 
read save the one most interested. Once, hapoening 
to glance up, she smiled kindly at him. Miss Horner 
looked curiously, maliciously at her, on seeing this. 

Mrs. Ballard called, “Now, Ulrica, that song I 
heard you sing once, ‘The Deserted Wife.’ ” 

Striking a few wandering chords her sweet voice 
rose and filled the room with melody. There seemed 
a tear in every note as she sang these lines : 

“Love me. Ah no, he never loved me, 


^08 CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS 


Else he'd sooner died than stain, 

One so fond as he had proved me, 

With the hollow world’s disdain.” 

When she ceased there was a silence so deep it 
could almost be felt; but that silence was broken by 
the highly pitched voice of Mr. Ballard, as he said, 
reassuringly, “ You needn’t look so sad, Ulrica, you 
shall never be deserted.” 

Mrs. Ballard’s rippling laughter rang out clear 
and unchecked, while the old man glowered upon her 
defiantly from his station at the piano. The others 
smiled and understood, all save my sister who was 
unaccountably stupid. I was sorely vexed. 

“Ulrica, that will do,” cried Mrs. Ballard, after her 
mirth had subsided somewhatf “we will allow father 
to entertain us now.” 

My sister left the piano and going to Mrs. Wood- 
son’s side they fell into pleasant conversation. Miss 
Horner excused herself to her hostess at an early 
hour, and nodding slightly to the others, excepting 
my sister and myself, whom she did not deign to 
notice, walked haughtily from the room. The word 
untamed rang in my ears as I watched her. But how 
was I to guess how utterly untamed at that ea^dv 
day? Several days passed. Mrs. Hendrick’s brother 
ran up for a few days from the city, bringing with him 
a friend who had been almost dying to meet the little 
widow, at least she had confided as much to Mrs. Bal- 
lard and myself. 

Miss Horner remained in her room almost contin- 
ually during this time, taking but little interest in any- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


209 


^hing during Horace’s absence. However, she al- 
lowed no opportunity to slight my sister or myseli 
pass by unimproved. On one occasion she was 
passing the school room which was slightly ajar. 
Hearing Grace’s voice within, she pushed the door 
open, and standing on the threshold said scornfully, 
‘‘Grace, you should remember that servants have their 
daily occupations, and you should not interfere with 
them.’' 

Dorothy who was near by, grasped the meaning 
of these words and instantly spoke up, her eyes flash- 
ing, “My mamma and auntie are not servants. I’ll let 
you know.” 

“Miss impudence,” said the young lady, giving the 
child a wicked look as she passed on. 

My sister gently chided her child for this exhibition 
of temper and said : “Dorothy, always speak kindly 
and be patient. When you are older, you will learn 
that we are all servants.” 

Such scenes never touched my sister although they 
filled me with burning rage. And while I felt that 
only small natures were stung by such trifles, I was 
utterly incapable of raising myself to a height where 
they could not reach. 

Mrs. Ballard had sent out invitations to the neigh- 
boring gentry for a dinner party to be followed by 
dancing. 

“It will not be a ball, exactly,’’ she exclaimed to 
me, “for I have scarcely discarded my mourning yet.” 

Horace was expected home the night of the din- 
ner party it having been purposely arranged foi* his 
home coming. 


210 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


The spacious ball room was thrown open and 
decked profusely with blossoms. Great baskets full 
of garden beauties had been cut and woven into fairy 
chains, which were hung in graceful festoons reaching 
from windows to doorways, filling the air with sweet- 
ness. This scene was brilliantly lit up by the many 
points of flame, from the three great chandeliers which 
were also most beautifully decorated with clusters of 
many hued roses, and daisy, chains reaching from 
one to the other, crossed and recrossed until the 
ceiling seemed a bed of bloom. To me, who had 
never before beheld such decorations, it was a verit- 
able fairy palace. 

I would take no active part in the 'evening pro- 
gramme, because of my religious views, but I knew 
that my sister would, for Mrs. Ballard had insisted 
that she should join the children in their dancing les- 
sons, which they took twice weekly at the village, de- 
claring that they would take more interest if she at- 
tempted the steps also. Most kindly she made my 
sister a present of a ball gown for this occasion. 
Dorothy and I had chosen a pale lilac tinted satin, 
almost shrouded in black lace, just such a gown as 
the child had wished her mother to possess in that 
past time, when she had put the price to such a dif- 
ferent use. Now Dorothy’s wish was fulfilled and 
she was wild with delight as she stood contemplating 
the beautiful picture her mother made when clad in 
its shining folds. 

Viewing herself in the long length mirror in the 
hallway before descending, she said half sadly. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


211 


‘‘Think what the price of such a gown did once, and 
this is all so useless and unnecessary.” 

Mr. Ballard, passing at that moment, overheard her 
words and paused. “Quite right, my dear,” he de- 
clared, “quite right — a useless expenditure of gold 
it is, these yards and yards of material that women 
drag after them.” 

Looking at the lengthy train of her gown he de- 
clared it was shameful. It was rank foolishness, it 
was heart breaking to see such wanton waste. “Why 
Td rather see a heap of good yellow gold any day,’’ 
he declared, rubbing his skinny hands together.” 

“But I want the gold to give away,” she answered 

“Oh, that’s worse than foolishness,” he exclaimed, 
his eyes twinkling avariciously. “Save it, save it, al- 
ways save it.” 

I turned shudderingly away, as a picture of the 
miser worshipping his gold arose before me. 

I hastened to Mrs. Ballard’s room, intending to as- 
sist her in preparing to receive her guests. I found 
her in despair, for her toilet was all complete except 
donning her ball gown, a white silk, which had been 
finished with a detachable train and this train was now 
in the land of the missing. Every available place had 
been searched but without success. Nannie was shed- 
ding tears over the loss. 

“There is positively nothing else that I can wear,” 
declared Mrs. Ballard ruefully, tears of vexation dim- 
ming her pretty brown eyes. 

“I must wear white or go back to this everlasting 
black, and that I will not do tonight,” stamping her 
foot impatiently. 


212 CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


She donned her abbreviated skirt and viewed her- 
self in the mirror. 

“How absurd I look/’ she cried. “A train makes 
one appear inches taller, and there is Isabel and Ul- 
rica, yes, and even you, are all so beautifully tall. It 
will never do,” she cried, decisively, by this time the 
tears flowed freely. An idea came to me on the in- 
stant. 

“I will suggest something if you will not be angry,” 
I began, but hesitated. 

“Go on,” she cried, “nothing will make me angry if 
I only find my train.” 

Hurriedly I repeated the co.iversation which my 
sister and I just had with Mr. Ballard. 

“I might have known the old curmudgeon had 
my train,” she cried, her eyes sparkling with blended 
hope and anger. 

Quite forgetting her invalidism, she slipped on a 
dressing gown and led the way to Mr. Ballard’s room. 
Luckily the door was unbolted. I assisted her in her 
search. Between the mattresses on his little iron 
bedstead, reposed the missing article, nicely folded; 
but not alone, for there were other valuables there. 
Yards of costly lace and ribbons and even a ring that 
belonged to Miss Horner. She had mentioned the 
loss the previous day, but finally decided that it had 
slipped from Jier finger unperceived, whilst she was 
in the garden. Mrs. Ballard gathered the stolen ar- 
ticles up in her arms and danced gleefully about the 
room, laughing merrily. 

“Oh, but I’ll have my revenge on him for this,” she 
declared, as she paused for breath. She noted my 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


213 


look of surprise, for never did invalid step so swiftly 
or lightly. Looking straight at me she smiled and 
said meaningly, “There's no . use in being sick, is 
there?” 

Returning her smile, I answered “No,” and there 
ended all her attempts at invalidism. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


“3ince brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, 

But sad mortality o’ersways their power, 

How with this rage, shall beaiily hold a plea, 

Whose action is no stronger than a flower?” 

That night Captain Woodson led Mrs. Ballard in 
to dinner and later opened the ball with her. Having- 
thrown her invalidism to the winds, she was now the 
gayest of the gay. Isabel Horner was magnificent in 
violet velvet, the low cut bodice revealing the beauti- 
fully carved throat in all its perfection, round which 
was clasped a necklace of brillants, gleaming like lit- 
tle points of flame. A tiara of the same precious 
gems flashed from the red gold hair. Fastened in the 
creamy lace which draped her bodice were pink La 
France roses, lending a sweet grace to the perfect 
vision. A princess royal could not have borne her- 
self more loftily. A proud beautiful statue she was 
indeed, selfishness written on every lineament of the 
perfectly carved features, marring all their grace, tak- 
ing away their living beauty, leaving naught but a 
cold, repellant exterior. For, though one may admire 
a marble statue, a human being so constituted be- 
comes an object most repelling. 

It was with a sense of relief that I turned from the 
contemplation of this cold beauty to my sister, whose 
wonderfully speaking eyes lit up her face with a beau- 
ty that outrivaled any glittering gems. A sprav of 
heliotrope was fastened in the shining wealth of her 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


215 


midnight hair, in lieu of jewels. As she stood a little 
apart, viewing the brilliant scene, with unseeing eyes, 
I knew that could she have followed her thoughts she 
would be at the bedside of some ill and suffering one, 
allaying pain with her gentle touch, whispering words 
of cheer to the drooping spirit. Later in the evening 
she and I were standing near the open door which led 
to the veranda. Several guests were near and Mrs. Bal- 
lard had just come up with Captain Woodson. Isabel 
Horner was also near. She had been casting furious 
glances at my sister during the evening ; evidently it 
did not add to her good humor to be rivaled, and her 
venomous tongue could not be kept longer from emit- 
ting a portion of its poison. 

Gazing meditatively at my sister she said, “Some- 
how I feel assured that we have met before I came 
here, and that I have heard your name or seen it 
somewhere. Oh, yes,’’ she resumed carelessly, as 
though just remembering, “you resemble Grace’s 
nurse maid whom we employed while residing in New 
York.’ 

“I am the same,’’ said my sister, looking at her 
with the smile which was habitual with her. 

“How is it that you have never mentioned the fact 
before ?’’ asked the other sneeringly. 

“I did not think you wished to know me,” an^ 
swered my sister. 

Cuttingly came the insulting words. 

“No, one does not usually wish to renew th6 ac- 
quaintance of a discarded servant, especially when 
she practices deception of bearing a false name. You 
called yourself Mary in those days, did you not, until 


216 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


this person/’ glancing at me, “came and claimed 
you ?” 

“I did, for the best of reasons,” answered my sister, 
looking sadly at her questioner, as the memory of 
her lonely childhood rose before her. 

Clear and distinct came Mrs. Ballard’s voice, “Isa- 
bel, Mrs. Blackburn and her sister are my valued 
friends. Moreover, it is an honor to lead a useful 
life. They must be accorded unbiased respect while 
beneath my roof.” Her eyes were fairly snapping 
with just anger. 

“Indeed,” sneered the other, as she moved away. 

“Why, Dora, what an exhibition of temper,” ex- 
claimed a voice that I knew and loved, and as I turned 
toward the veranda from whence proceeded that 
voice, Horace Ballard caught my outstretched hand, 
as he kissed Mrs. Ballard’s flushed cheek. 

My sister had turned away to speak with Mrs 
Woodson, who had enjoyed Isabel Horner’s discom- 
fiture immensely, and so did not see him. 

“Why are you so late, Horace?” asked Mrs. Bal- 
lard. 

“I was delayed unavoidably and so missed my 
train,” he answered. “But I must leave you now,” 
he declared lightly, “and make myself presentable for 
this brilliant affair.” 

During the minutes that followed I had ample time 
t( ponder upon the young lady’s words and their 
veiled meaning. What did they imply? She had 
heard or seen my sister’s name and there was a cruel 
triumphant light in her eyes as she emphasizd that 
word seen. Was my sister’s supposed disgrace des- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


217 


tilled to follow us to this distant land, and crush her? 
No, crush her it never could, but we might lose our 
newly found friends by the exposure, I told myself 
in dismay. 

I looked across the room at my sister’s calm face, 
on which rested no sign of uneasiness, no sign what- 
ever that she had interpreted the girl’s venomous 
words. Then I remembered the kind generosity of 
tile good woman who had so befriended us and knc’,' 
that X had done her an injustice in doubting for a mo- 
ment her leniency in judgment, should the whole 
truthful circumstances be explained to her. Then I 
thought of Horace, with that little sharp pain of jeal- 
ousy tugging at my heart. What if it were true, after 
all, that his best affections were placed upon that 
beautiful demon, whom I knew to be so unworthy of 
any good man’s love, and doubly so of one like him? 
With all these reflections crowding upon me, I was 
quite miserable. But later, as Horace Ballard en- 
tered the room and his glance rested upon my sister, 
my misgivings vanished, and a joyous certainty dwelt 
where their abode had been. In a moment he was at 
her side. His secret — no — why should his honest love 
be a secret, — written plainly on his happy face and in 
his kindling eyes. 

Isabel Horner saw and also understood. In that 
moment even I pitied the girl, as I noted the deadly 
whiteness of her face as she so surely read his love 
for another. I also believed that she was prepared 
for it, that she had suspected it all along, else, why 
was her enmity for my sister so pronounced from the 
first? 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


2lS 


Horace Ballard was not one of the world’s celebri- 
ties, yet a stranger just stepping into that room must 
surely have believed him one, seeing with what eager- 
ness the guests crowded about him, grasping his 
hand and looking with friendly eyes upon him, and 
voicing still more friendly greetings. A friend in- 
deed, was he to the high or low alike. 

"Where is father?” he inquired of Mrs. Ballard, as 
she paused a moment by my sister’s chair. 

"Why I frightened him away hours ago, with my 
train,” she said, laughing and glancing at me. 

"I don’t see how such a pretty one could frighten 
any one,” he declared, looking admiringly at the 
sweeping folds of glistening silk. 

"You shall be let into the secret then,” and still 
smiling she stepped aside with him and proceeded to 
give him an account of the circumstance that was los- 
ing his father the joys of the ball room. 

He shook his head sadly, meditatively, as she left 
him. Coming back to us, he looked after her and said, 
"What a mischievous creature she is, but so good. I 
am glad she has thrown aside that foolish whim of 
hers for she is worth half a dozen of either you or 
Ulrica, in physical strength.” 

I smiled at him but made no comment. 

“Horace, you have not seen Miss Horner yet, and 
she is looking this way,” said my sister, kindly re- 
membering her enemy. 

He crossed over to where she stood, plucking to 
pieces one of the exquisite pink roses which adorned 
her bodice. Pale they grew beside the deep glow 
that mounted to cheek and brow on his approach. A& 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


219 


he took her hand in. friendly greeting she stood silent 
with downcast eyes. I marveled at the change in 
her. Could this lovely softened girl be the vindictive 
creature of an hour ago ? Her blue eyes were lumin- 
ous with a beautiful chastened light. Her very figure 
had lost its haughty bearing. A tenderness that I 
had not deemed her capable of pervaded her whole 
being. The proud, beautiful statue had been sud- 
denly endowed with life. She had a heart, poor girl, 
and Horace Ballard alone had the power to wake it 
from its lethargy. Oh, could I but have seen such a 
transformation in my sister at this man’s approach, 
how my heart would have stirred with very gladness. 
But never was her cool calm ruffled at sight of him. 
Never was there aught save frank friendliness in her 
steady, open glance. 

After a time Mrs. Ballard came to me with the re- 
quest that 1 go to her rooms and fetch a kerchief, 
as she had misplaced hers. As I passed Mr. Ballard’s 
room on the upper landing he peered cautiously out 
from behind the door, which was slightly ajar; but 
perceiving me, quickly darted back, closed and bolted 
it. I wondered at this and stepped into my own room, 
which was almost opposite, and presently I heard a 
knock on his door. 

‘Tt is I, father,” called Horace. 

The door was unbolted and cautiously opened. My 
conscience did not trouble me in the least as I stood 
and listened, for T was curious to know what had 
been Mrs. Ballard’s revenge. Evidently it had been 
swift and sure. 


220 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


“Father, why do you not come down and enjoy 
yourself?” asked Horace cheerily. 

“I could not catch all the old man’s words, but his 
voice rose as he proceeded, also his anger. 

‘‘She declares that if I poke my head in that ball 
room tonight she will put me to open shame before 
all the guests for what I have done. Oh, I hate her!” 
he cried, his voice still rising. “Oh, how I hate her. 
And that meddlesome minx, Mrs. Blackburn, too; it 
was through her that I was found out, I know it 
was.” 

“But, father, what induced you to ever do such a 
thing?” exclaimed Horace. 

As for myself I was brimming over with merriment 
at the ridiculous position in which the old man found 
himself. I knew that the strains of gay music which 
came stealing up the stairway and through the hall 
were distractingly tempting to him; that he longed 
to be in the midst of the merry throng below; the 
gayest of the gay.” 

“It's all your fault,” was the angry answer Horace 
received. “You young rascal, I thought that by sell- 
ing those useless cursed article I might get a part of 
the money back that you threw right and left on that 
trip last summer. Money that wasn’t yours,” he fair- 
ly shrieked, “how dared you?” 

By dint of much patient coaxing and kindly assur- 
ances that Mrs. Ballard would not mention his act 
to any one, Horace finally induced him to go down. 

“But the jade will tell Ulrica,” he declared, *T 
wouldn’t have Ulrica know it for the world.’’ 

At this he broke completely down and sobbed out 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


221 


his wrath like a young child. But soon they de- 
scended the stairs arm in arm. 

I reached the ball room by another entrance almost 
as soon as they. Making my way toward Mrs. Bal- 
lard, I saw her nod to Horace as he looked at her 
and smilingly shook his head. But the temptation to 
annoy the old man was irresistible and as he passed 
her, looking in every direction for my sister, she 
vacated her chair immediately and said quite loudly, 
“Father, I fear you are weary after such prolonged 
merriment. Will you not take my chair and rest a 
few moments?” 

A glance of unholy wrath was all the answer she 
received as he teetered by, bent on finding the object 
of his search as speedily as possible. Her amused 
laugh followed him. Neither did he speak to a sin- 
gle guest, though he must have been intimate with 
each and every one ; but now he passed them by as 
though they were utter strangers. A smile over- 
spread his wrinkled countenance as his eyes finally 
rested upon iny sister, and he grasped her hand as 
though he had not seen her for years. She seemed 
a little surprised at his behavior but smiled kindly as 
she made room for him beside her. A little later 
when Horace came to claim her for a waltz he looked 
so darkly at him that I half rose in alarm. Oh, hov/ 
little did any one know the sad termination there 
would be to this foolish infatuation. 

After he had finished the dance they paused quite 
near me, and Horace said beseechingly, “Ulrica, come 
out on the veranda a few moments; I have scarcely 
spoken a word to you yet.” 


222 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


When they were out amid the rustling leaves and 
sweet honeysuckle blooms, whose fragrance came 
stealing through the long, low windows where I sat, 
he took her hands in his, and in tones trembling with 
holy love, said, “Ulrica, have you missed me?’’ 

“Indeed, I have, Horace,” she answered, “I do so 
long for our nights among the stars again.” 

“Yes, you have missed our nights among the stars, 
Ulrica,” a little disappointment creeping into his 
voice, “but have you missed me?” 

“Certainly I have,” she answered him. “Indeed, 
Horace, I scarcely know how I could get along with- 
out you.” 

“Then I am most blest,” he said softly, smoothing 
back her curls with loving touch and she so blind, so 
blind! 

Indeed her next words proved how far were her 
thoughts from self or his love for her. “Did you find 
those poor families of whom I told you?” she in- 
quired. 

“Yes, every one; that was how I came to miss my 
train tonight; I was with one of them,” he answered, 
“and they are situated worse, much worse than was 
represented to us.” 

His voice grew pityingly tender, as he described 
their surroundings. 

“If I had a sack of gold I should take it to them,” 
he said. “However, I was able to temporarily re- 
lieve their wants.” 

My sister glanced in at the brilliant scene, which 
the interior of the ball room presented, and with sad 
pain in her voice cried, “Oh, Horace, when will come 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


223 


the time when such useless expenditures of wealth 
cease ? How can any one be merry amid such scenes, 
while there is one suffering creature in the whole 
wide world?” Her voice broke with a sob. 

“Nay, dry your tears dear,’’ he said. “Curb your 
loving impatience for that great and glad time when 
all humanity will have but one aim. Strive to be con- 
tent and know that all is well. These things must 
be, for a time. But know also that the time will 
surely come when mankind will crave for naught save 
the riches of the soul.” 

“You always comfort me, Horace,” she said smil- 
ing through her tears, “but sometimes the knowledge 
of it all becomes too great a burden, and I almost 
faint by the wayside.” 

“Yes, and so did I., dear, until I gained strength 
from that blessed assurance that ‘He doeth all things 
well,* ” he said gravely. 

When she left him a few moments later he looked 
after her and said softly, “Oh, my dear, dear love!” 

Unobserved, I S2t quite still for some time, vainly 
striving to pierce the veil of futurity as many others 
seek to do, only to find in the end how useless is the 
expenditure of thought and strength. 

Mr. Ballard claimed my sister’s attention the re- 
mainder of the evening, making himself as ridiculous 
as he alone knew how, causing many smiles of ridi- 
cule, many significant glances to be exchanged, while 
she, in her utter unconsciousness of the old man’s 
infatuation, treated him with marked kindness, be- 
c?.iise of his extreme age. 

The following days were passed in a round of 


224 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


pleasure. An excursion on horseback to view some 
mountain scenery had been planned for the fourth 
day after the ball. That morning as we were assem- 
bled at the breakfast table Mrs. Ballard said, ‘T fear 
that I haven’t the right number of mounts in my 
stables,’’ counting on her pretty fingers and calling 
by name her saddle animals. “Minus one,” she con- 
cluded. “Horace, you must send to the corrals for 
Black Dock. He is my favorite, but will be very 
gay after his long rest, so I shall not try him today. 
Who will?” and she looked around at us. 

“I,” said Miss Horner quickly. 

“You may,” readily agreed Mrs. Ballard. “You 
would be safe on a steed suitable for the very master 
of Haydes,” she concluded with a nod and laugh. 

The horses were brought round, ready for the start, 
at nine o’clock. Captain Woodson stood waiting to 
offer his services to my sister and Miss Horner, who 
had not yet appeared. The others, including myself, 
were mounted and waiting, when Mr. Ballard came 
trotting out and gesticulating wildly, as he cried, 
“Where’s my horse, I want to know, madam?” look- 
ing fiercely at Mrs. Ballard. 

“Why, father,” she answered, smiling at his anger 
as was her wont, “I arranged for you to ride in the 
carriage with Mrs. Woodsen, Mrs. Horner and 
the — ” 

“I’ll not do it. I’ll not do it,” he fairly screamed, his 
face working with rage. “Why should a man in the 
prime of life ride with old women and children ?” 

Quite oblivious was he to the fact that these self- 
same old women and children were within hearing. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


225 


‘T want a horse, madam,’’ he cried, still more 
angrily, stamping his foot on the stone pavement, 
as Mrs. Ballard made no motion toward granting his 
request. 

Catching sight of Horace, who was coming from 
the stables, he commanded him to have one saddled 
at once. 

“But, father,” he expostulated, “I fear you ard’ un- 
able to — ” 

“How dare you imply such a thing!” shrieked the 
old man, his impatience and anger reaching the boil- 
ing point. “I’ll ride a work animal of any kind, sir, 
but I’ll ride along with the rest of you, 1 tell you,” 

As Horace turned to do his father’s bidding Miss 
Plorner ran lightly down the steps, magnificent in 
dark blue velvet habit, and was helped quickly onto 
one of the waiting horses. My sister came close be- 
hind her. 

“Isabel, you have mounted the wrong horse,” called 
Mrs. Ballard. 

“What a stupid mistake,” exclaimed the girl. “If 
this person,” looking at my sister, “fears to ride him 
I will change at once,” and she prepared to dis- 
mount. 

“But I do not,” said my sister, motioning to Cap- 
tain Woodson to assist her into the saddle. 

Mrs. Ballard gave the word to start at once, goad- 
ing almost to madness the old man, who was trotting 
up and down the wide gravel walk, demanding and 
imploring her, by turns to wait for him. But she 
laughingly called back, “You can soon overtake us, 


226 


CLIMBING TFIE HElGHTvS. 


father. A man in the prime of life can ride faster 
than we poor women.” 

And so we left him, looking longingly after my sis- 
ter, who was lovely enough to distract any one on this 
sunny morning as she sat so proudly on that hand- 
some steed, her starry eyes as black and soft as the 
velvet habit that encased her perfect figure. Kind 
Mrs^. Ballard had insisted that she should take this 
article of apparel from her own wardrobe, for my sis- 
ter was the purchaser of no costly garments. 

Mr^. Ballard and Captan Woodson were in the 
lead, but soon paused for us to come up. She warned 
my sister to watch Black Dock when we reached the 
bridge. “He detests to cross one, it is his only fail- 
ing,” she said. 

Leaving us behind again, she forgot us in the 
more interesting pursuit of winning her companion's 
heart. We rode a little in advance of Miss Horner, 
who was loitering, evidently waiting for Horace to 
come up. As we reached the bridge Black Dock 
snorted with fear, refusing to put a foot forward, but 
rearing and plunging madly, backed awav despite his 
rider’s efforts to urge him ahead. Then Miss Horner 
rode quickly up, and I plainly saw her reach out her 
hand and strike the flank of the already frightened 
animal with her whip. Snorting wildly, he cleared the 
bridge with one leap, and — horrors! his hindermost 
feet slipped over the edge of that frightful abyss, 
whose depths were impenetrable to the eve. As I 
saw my sister balancing between life and death 
on that floundering, struggling animal, I was 
petrified with fear and unable to move a finger in 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


?27 


aiding her. In that moment I could have sworn that 
the beautiful woman at my side had purposely fright- 
ened the animal still more, wishing for — O, I scarce- 
ly dared name my horrible suspicion to myself. Final- 
ly the horse regained his footing and stood panting 
and snorting, ready to spring away in a mad gallop. 

At that moment Horace came up and catching 
the animal’s bridle, cried in trembling tones, his face 
white as death : “Ulrica, dear, how came you to ride 
this dangerous animal? I shall not hear of your 
going a step further on him,” and he helped her to 
alight, and proceeded at once to change saddles, giv- 
ing her his own horse. 

“And yet,” broke m Miss Horner, reproach in her 
eyes and voice, “you were willing that I should ride 
him, Horace.” 

"But you are a splendid horsewoman, Isabel,” he 
answered, “and Ulrica is unused to riding.” 

But his words only called up a vindictive light to 
the girl's bright eyes. 

Mr. Ballard had come up, meanwhile, and riding 
alongside my sister, Horace was compelled to fall 
back with Miss Horner. 

The day’s enjoyment was at an end for me. At 
one moment I questioned myself as to the best course 
to pursue, with this tiger-hearted woman. The next 
I would strive to believe that my ever ready suspi- 
cions had at last outstripped me. It surely could not 
be that we had a murderess in our midst. Then I 
remembered with a thrill of horror the fierce light 
that flashed to her eyes as she touched the animal. 
I at last concluded that she had made the mistake of 


228 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


choosing the wrong horse purposely, hoping that my 
sister would come to grief. I knew that this girl 
loved Horace Ballard madly^ and that she was fully 
aware that his heart was in another’s keeping. 

And he, all unconsciously, added to the flame of 
her love, by his kindness, his little courteous atten- 
tions which he no doubt, believed she received as 
would a friend or sister. Even as did my sister in 
her kindness of heart, encourage that poor, old, de- 
crepit man who was ever basking in the light of her 
friendly smiles, which he mistook for love. Oh, it is 
indeed oftime kinder to be unkind! 


CHAPTER XX. 

“was it theft?” 

. “What hope for you that better days, 

Shall climb the yet unreddened seat?” 
When famine in the morning slays 
Why look for joy at mid-day feast? 

Far shines the good, and faintly throws 
A doubtful gleam through mist and rain, 
But evil darkness presses close 

His face against the window pane.” 

1 hesitated to make known my horrible suspicions 
in regard to that beautiful untamed creature who was 
an honored guest of my employer. Most of all did 
1 hesitate to inform Ulrica, for I dreaded the accus- 
ing look she ever bent upon me when I spoke of the 
shortcomings of others. Ever did she find some good 
reason for their act, some hidden motive having good 
for its source; or failing in this, she would take in- 
finite pains to prove the weakness that prompted the 
deed, and so suspend judgment. A master mind, 
indeed, was hers to ferret out good, but evil seemed 
entirely foreign to her nature. But the dreadful mis- 
take I made in keeping silent bore bitter fruit. 

The morning following our excursion on horseback 
Mr. Ballard was unable to leave his rooms. The long 
ride over rough roads had been too much foi* his 
feeble strength. Horace ran up at short intervals 
during the day, kindly, lovingly attending to his 
father’s wants. 


230 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


“Father wishes to see you, Ulrica,” said he, as 
my sister and I were passing through the hall late in 
the afternoon. 

We went immediately into Mr. Ballard’s room and 
found him bolstered up in an easy chair, a most piti- 
ful looking object, his face white and drawn with 
pain. No doubt Horace had carried him from the 
bed and placed him there. His small eyes bright- 
ened on beholding Ulrica and his thin piping voice 
trembled as he cried, “Ah, my dear, Fm glad to see 
you. Shake hands. You see Fm a little under the 
weather at present. Even a man in the prime of life 
will become ill occasinally.” 

A smile which would not be suppressed despite my 
efforts crept to my lips. The old man, glancing up, 
notice my presence for the first time. 

“I did not ask you to come,” he cried wrathfully, 
“you jade, get out of my sight.” 

Indeed, this was the first time he had addressed me 
since the episode of the lost train. Truly it had 
placed him in a most unfavorable light, and he still 
held me entirely responsible for the exposure. So the 
very sight of me was too much for him in his weak 
and nervous state. 

“Why, father!” exclaimed Horace aghast. 

“You, too, you young scoundrel, who wants a 
mere, gawky boy in the way when they wish to talk ? 
Do we want them, Ulrica?” he gasped, his voice 
scarcely audible as he sank back exhausted. “Send 
them away, send them away,” he whispered, still 
clinging desperately to Ulrica’s hand. 


Climbing the heights. 


231 


“Oh, no, allow them to remain, Mr. Ballard,” she 
said, in surprise, 

“Just as you say, my dear, everything shall be just 
as you say,’’ he replied weakly. 

“Father, I am glad you think so much of Ulrica,” 
said Horace, softly, his eyes shining with a tender 
joy as he regarded her. 

“Of course I do think the world of her,” he said, 
turning to her. “Don’t I, Ulrica?” 

“I am very glad,” answered my sister kindly. “I 
trust you will be quite well soon.” 

Her voice grew tender and soothing, as though 
speaking to a tired, sick child, as she continued, 
“Would you like to accompany me to the village to- 
morrow? No doubt the drive would do you good.” 

He was more than delighted, he was radiant as he 
accepted the invitation. Kindly and pleasantly she 
talked with him for some time, he reiterating over and 
over again that he was still in the prime of life. 

I sat by, not daring to enter into their conversa- 
tion, but free to smile at will, for my presence was 
utterly ignored. 

The following morning, Horace almost carried his 
father down the steps and out to the vehicle where 
Ulrica was waiting, for nothing short of a dying con- 
dition would have caused him to abandon such an 
opportunity of being near her. Horace stood hat in 
hand and smilingly watched Ulrica drive away. He 
was as blind to the quality of his father’s love for my 
sister as was she herself. 

Mrs. Ballard invited Isabel Horner to prolong her 
visit indefinitely. An invitation which I secretly de- 


232 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


plored, though the haughty creature had grown more 
gracious towards Ulrica and myself during the latter 
part of her stay, and I began to be at ease once more. 
As the days passed by and I heard nothing more of 
her having seen my sister’s name somewhere, I at- 
tached no meaning to her words. Not that Ulrica 
sought to hide her supposed disgrace from our new 
friends. Had she believed for a moment that there 
was good cause for Mrs. Ballard to hear the story of 
her past life, she would never have hesitated to dis- 
close every circumstance. 

When Ulrica returned from the village that day, 
she brought the mail for the house. I particularly 
noticed a large bundle of papers for Isabel Horner. 
Half an hour after she received them Ulrica and I 
were summoned to Mrs. Ballard’s boudoir. Her kind- 
ly face wore a much disturbed expression. I knew 
in an instant that something was wrong. Isabel 
Horner stood at the window, carelessly drumming on 
the window pane, with white jeweled fingers. 

“Ulrica,” said Mrs. Ballard, holding out a paper 
dated eight months back, ‘T wish to ask you if this is 
true ?” 

There, before my eyes, danced my sister’s name 
in glaring letters. There was chronicled all the 
shameful story of the separation of Dr. Ashley and 
his wife. I felt the blood mount to my face in a fiery 
wave. Not so with my sister, who stood with her 
hands clasped before her, with no flush of guilt on 
her white cheek, no suspicion of guilt in her clear 
eyes, as they met those of her questioner. No quiver 
in the steady tones, as she answered. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


233 


‘Tt is both true and untrue, Mrs. Ballard.” 

The good woman looked steadily at her for a 
time and said : “But you were not intentionally guil- 
ty, Ulrica?” 

‘T was not,” she replied. “Circumstances erased 
my guilt.” 

“A lik'ely story,” exclaimed Isabel Horner, turning 
to us a face whose beauty was all marred by the sneer 
which dwelt there. 

“Parting man and wife is considered a crime among 
respectable people; you did that, did you not?” 

There was a triumphant glitter in her blue eyes, as 
she regarded my sister’s saddened face. 

"I was the unwitting cause of their separation,” 
she answered quietly. 

Down Mrs. Ballard’s face the tears were silently 
chasing each other and taking my sister’s hand in a 
firm kindly clasp, she said, “I feel assured that no 
blame is attached to you. Tell me how it was, Ul- 
rica.” 

“Dear Mrs. Ballard, my sister will explain all to 
you. I cannot bear to, not yet,” she said, a little 
catch in her voice. 

Isabel Horner raised her head defiantly and turned 
to leave the room, when Mrs. Ballard called to her, 
“Remember, Isabel, not one word of this must be 
heard outside this room.” To her credit let me say it 
never w^as. 

Mrs. Ballard burned the papers then and there. 
Ulrica went about her duties and I told our kind 
friend all, all. She was satisfied. She learned also 
tlial Ulrica was a runaway wife. It was thus my sis- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS 


^34 


ter gained more surely her love and sympathy, by the 
recital of the story of her own bitter sorrows. 

Isabel Horner thus malignantly sought to n move 
my sister from her path ; she well understood Horace 
Ballard’s truth-loving and honest, upright nature, 
and thi.iking to disgrace my sister in his sight and 
have her turned from the door by Mrs. Ballard, with 
this proof of her seeming guilt, she had sent 'to Rich- 
mond for those old papers, feeling certain that her 
plans would prove successful. For all her pains, fail- 
ure was the result; but well I knew she would at- 
tempt more desperate measures. She was not the 
one to own defeat. 

A few days later the last of the guests departed, 
excepting Isabel Horner. Mrs. Ballard received daily 
letters from Captain Woodson. She confided to me 
that she thought a great deal of him, and I believed 
him worthy even of one so noble as I knew her to be. 
The house once more quieted down and the old pleas- 
ant routine of daily life was resumed, all excepting 
Mrs. Ballard’s invalidism. I suggested that perhaps 
she would not require my services longer. Holding 
up her hand in playful horror, she cried, “Do yon 
think a great invalid like my self could get along 
without I companu nr’’ and sue lai.ghed deridinglyat 
her discarded whim. 

My sister’s days were spent in pleasant employ- 
ment, or more plainly speaking, on the earth ; her 
nights among the stars, for she was either in the ob- 
servatory or the garden with Horace, almost nightly, 
until the midnight hour. And I was ever following 
them about, keeping within sight and hearing, during 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


235 


those lengthy vigils while they talked of all hidden 
things, things that were indeed, beyond my simple 
comprehension. Truly the world and its ways were 
more than I could fathom. And I had grown very 
worldly in those days, midst so much lavishly dis- 
]3layed wealth, housed in carefully from the sorrows 
and hardships of the less fortunte. Ulrica’s welfare 
Was all 1 cared for. I purchased her the most beau- 
tiful garments I could afford, to set her beauty off, 
which seemed but to increase with time. Truly her 
spiritual beauty “grew as the growing of flowers.” 
She filled my life completely and 1 never looked be- 
yond her trials and triumphs. While she, in the scope 
of her greater love, embraced all things, even to the 
whole God-given universe, as it were. 

I assured myself over and over again that she had 
found her mate in this noble young man, she who 
was so tender of heart that she would lift her skirts 
lest they brush away an ant hill, she who would 
step aside for fear of crushing a worm, so thought- 
ful was she of little things. Oh yes, Horace Ballard 
was a fitting mate, even for such a one. Oft times I 
would sit and watch her through the open door of 
the observatory as some great truth from out the 
very stellar depths found a home in her mind, and 
wonder at the light that seemed to change her face 
to one not of earthly composition. Horace Ballard 
was the one who first caught these great truth, let- 
ting them shine through his own ])Owerful intellect 
until she also caught their bright rays, and held them 
as she alone was capable of doing. Thev sought to 
draw me into their researching and strange beliefs, 


236 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


but I would not. Horace Ballard might have been 
one of the world’s ^celebrities, but he had greater aspi- 
rations than the world’s homage, which sank into 
insignificance compared to the loftiness of his ambi- 
tion. 

Of a truth my sister had found one who, even as 
she, was climbing the heights. One who, even as she, 
worshipped something which to me was intangible; 
something which was too great for my conception ; 
something which was, indeed, hidden from com- 
mon minds such as I knew my own to be. But I 
knew also, that a mysterious power upheld them in 
times of trial, when avowed Christians tottered and 
fell. Yet I doubt much, if Horace Ballard, even as 
my sister, ever lost the music of a single bird note, or 
chirp of insect, about him, so keen was his percep- 
tion of small earthly objects. His mind seemed broad 
enough to encompass all things, either great or small. 
Horace, Oh, I should never tire of eulogizing Horace. 

Isabel Horner’s hatred for my sister grew apace, as 
also did her love for Horace Ballard. The very sound 
of his voice or footstep would cause her to tremble 
and, as it were, to melt from a stately iceberg to a 
dimpling, sunkissed summer sea. This love of hers 
seemed to be the only true thing in her nature, for in 
all else she was narrow souled, and unutterably 
small; nay, wicked. Once she informed Mrs. Ballard 
that she had seen Ulrica and Horace alone in the 
observatory late at night. 

“Why, that is nothing!’’ exclaimed Mrs. Ballard, in 
surprise, “Ulrica is studying the stars. She is at lib- 
erty to go there when she chooses.” 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


237 


The haughty creature realized the uselessness of 
trying further to poison Mrs. Ballard’s mind against 
my sister and so she hastened the one great move 
which was destined to shock the whole country side. 

One morning Ulrica begged Mrs. Ballard’s permis- 
sion to make a trip to the city. She took a satchel, as 
was her custom, and Mr. Ballard insisted on ac- 
companying her to the village, to catch the early 
morning train. She informed no one of her object 
in making the trip at that time and I wondered a 
little, for she had not yet drawn her monthly salar.v- 
She returned on the evening train, there was such a 
glad light in her eyes, such a calm serenity of manner, 
that I wondered the more. However, I made no in- 
quiries, for there was that about my sister, which 
caused me to shrink from asking for her confidence 
unless it were given spontaneously. 

Two mornings later I glanced from my window 
on arising and saw Mr. Ballard running up and down 
one of the garden walks wringing his thin hands and 
groaning pitifully. I hastened my toilet and running 
down the stairs met Mrs. Ballard in the hall below. 
vShe had also seen him. We turned our steps towards 
the garden. “Why, father, what is wrong?” she in- 
quired, as we reached the spot where the old man was 
still trotting up and down, moaning and uttering unin- 
telligible words under his breath. 

Receiving no answer she caught his sleeve and 
shook him. “Are you daft, father? What is 
wrong?” she repeated, growing frightened. 

“Oh, my precious ones, my precious ones. I will 
look again,” he said, scarcely seeming to comprehend 


238 


CLIMPJNG THE HEIGHTS. 


her words, and darting into the summer house a mo- 
ment; he returned with deeper despair written on 
every feature. Still moaning for his precious ones 
he ran up and down, up and down, utterly oblivious 
to the fact that in his dire extremity he had torn 
away his raven locks and was fast trampling them 
out of all semblance to their original appearance. 

Ulrica, seeing the disturbance, hastened to us. He 
perceived her in time to grasp his curls and place 
them quickly upon his head. As she reached us he 
turned toward her his despairing face, down which 
the tears were coursing freely. Yes, tears! No mis- 
ery or dire distress of his fellow man had ever had 
the power to dim his eye, but the loss of his gold 
brought them forth in torrents. Mrs. Ballard and I 
had examined the interior of the summer house and 
found there a buried box, empty, the loose earth piled 
high on either side. He had been robbed of his 
golden treasures. But the ludicrous appearance he 
presented with a part of his smooth shining head still 
revealed to the early morning daylight, and the re- 
mainder hidden beneath long flowing jettv locks, to- 
gether with his tear-wet cheeks and quivering lips, 
was too much for Mrs. Ballard’s equanimity. Cling- 
ing to the lattice of the summer house for support, 
she fairly screamed with laughter. The very birds 
paused in their morning hymns and listened to the 
joyous sound. 

For once the old man heeded her not. Reaching 
two trembling hands towards my sister, he cried, 
“Ulrica, you are the one to comfort me in this, the 
greatest sorrow of my life.” 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


239 


Almost dragging her into the summer house, he 
implored her in broken, tearful accents to search for 
his gold. We used all our persuasive powers to in- 
duce him to go in and breakfast with us, but without 
avail. He would do nothing but run up and down 
before the summer house, darting in at intervals to 
look at the spot from whence his '^precious ones” 
had fled. There he tarried until Horace came from 
the fields near the noon hour, and almost carried him 
to his room, while he still muttered of the loss of his 
precious ones. Not a morsel of food passed his lips 
that day. More bitter were the tears shed over that 
empty box than ever mother shed over the dead body 
of her child. 

“This is a most dreadful affair, Ulrica,” I said, when 
we were alone. “Who in the world could have taken 
it?’’ 

“T did, Olive,” was the startling reply. 

I looked my horror, but was so overwhelmed with 
astonishment that I could not utter a word. 

She smiled a little and said, “Why, Olive, there is 
nothing so dreadful about it. I took the gold to those 
poor families in the city and it sufficed to start them 
in life once more. One poor fallen girl has been 
saved and sent home to a heart-broken loving 
mother.” 

With shining tear-wet eyes and sorrowing sym- 
pathy in her voice, she proceeded,, “Oh, if you could 
have seen the poor girl who came home, sickened al- 
most to death from a factory where she toiled for a 
mere pittance, striving to support her crippled father 
and three 'small sisters. If you could have seen 


240 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


others, toiling in those wretched health destroying 
places, pale with want, sinking beneath the curse of 
overwork and pain. If you could have seem the little 
neglected children, you must also have taken the gold 
for their sakes.” 

Her voice had sunk to a whisper. A strange, burn- 
ing agony, terrible in its intensity, leaped to her eyes. 
It were as though the full knowledge of the mighty 
sorrows of the whole world had suddenly smote uoQii 
her senses. 

“How can I help them all!” she cried, her voice 
sharp with untold pain. “There are so many, so 
many, so many.” 

But she seemed to free herself with one .great ef - 
fort of her sudden weakness, and whispered, ,‘T must 
be brave and do the little I can.’ 

Turning to me she continued in her usual tones : 
“Indeed, I should consider that I had not done my 
duty, had I not relieved their pressing wants when it 
was possible to do so.’’ 

“But, Ulrica, it was theft, common theft,” I at 
length gasped out. 

“The world may so term it, but I do- not,’’ she re- 
plied firmly, “neither does Horace.” 

“Does he know?” I asked faintly. 

“I told him the whole circumstance last night,” she 
answered. “He was very glad and said I did right, 
quite right, a thing he should have done himself, had 
he known where the gold was buried.” 

I said no more, for if Horace Ballard said it was 
right I, too, believed it must be so. It was with a 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


241 


sinking heart that I went about my duties for well I 
knew that should any one be accused of the theft my 
sister would at once clear them by denouncing her- 
self as the one who had taken the buried treasure. 
Even I, with all my worldliness, could not call it 
theft, understanding, as I did, the motive which 
prompted the deed. 


CHAPTER XXL 
“no.” 

Heed not the sneers of those who money wise, 
Call you an idle dreamer, for their gold 

Will pass away when life’s brief game is done 
While the bright ore that in the fancy lies. 

Pure, undefiled, unpurchased and unsold. 

Shall live as long as starlight or as sun.” 

Later in the day Isabel Horner heard of the loss 
and she at once suggested to Mr. Ballard that a de- 
tective be sent for. My heart stood still with appre- 
hension as he cried excitedly, ”A fool I was not to 
think of that before. Here, Charles, here,” he called, 
as he caught a glimpse of one of the men passing 
through the garden, where he had again taken up his 
station. “Get you to the village and telegraph for the 
best detective in Sacramento to come up immedi- 
ately.” 

Charles looked stupidly at him, not having yet 
heard of the loss, Mrs. Ballard deeming it unadvisa- 
ble to spread the story at once, and the victim plain- 
ly had been too dazed for any sort of reasoning. 

“Get out, you dog, and do my bidding at once,” he 
commanded his anger terrible to see, as he ran up 
and shook his clenched hand at the surprised and still 
motionless Charles. 

“Pll, I’ll — ” and choking with impotent rage, he 
was compelled to cling to the nearby, lattice for support. 

Charles took a hurried leave and the irascible old 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


243 


man, watch in hand, gazed up and down the walks, 
wild with impatience, the remainder of the after- 
noon. 

With the evening train came Mr. Hampton, the de- 
tective, bland of manner, sharp of eyes. Making haste 
to examine the interior of the summer house, before 
the daylight faded, he stepped out, smiled and stated 
that he had found a clue. He glanced sharply at my 
perturbed countenance and smiled the more. 

“Mr. Ballard, a woman’s footprint is plainly visible 
in the disturbed earth, near the opening,’’ he cried, 
turning to the old man. 

“Call the women servants and I think we will soon 
have this mystery cleared up.” 

Nannie came first, followed by the others. He 
glanced furtively at her dainty footgear and said, 
“My good girl, be so kind as to lend me one of your 
pretty slippers, the right one, please.” 

The girl naturally hesitated in complying with the 
unusual request, while her face flushed painfully. 
Mr. Ballard’s ire could be held in check no longer, 
and he cried wrathfully : “You jade! you are the one 
who has thieved my gold. Arrest her at once,” he 
demanded of the waiting detective. “I see guilt in 
her face. Arrest her, I say!” 

“Oh, sir,” she cried, the tears starting, “indeed I 
know nothing about it. I took nothing. I am not 
guilty. Indeed I am not. I will prove to you that I 
am not,” she said, hastily removing the slipper as had 
been required. 

Mr. Hampton stepped into the suminer house and 
returned in a moment. h * 


244 CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


‘T am sorry,/’ he said, addressing the terrified girl, 
“but your slipper exactly fits the imprint in the loos- 
ened earth.” 

‘T am not guilty, sir; I swear that T am not!” she 
cried, wringing her hands distractedly. 

And I could hove sworn it also, but I would not. 
However, Ulrica had arrived in time to hear the false 
accusation. Well I knew what was coming as she 
hid her hand tenderly, protectingly upon the girl's 
arm. Her voice sounded clear, steady and soft, above 
the other’s wild weeping, as she said, “Nay, Nannie, 
do not be frightened, it was I who took the gold.” 

A breathless silence ensued, as with her white 
hands clasped before her, tall, lovely and self-accus- 
ing, she stood in our midst. But no look of guilt 
marred the steady glance of her truthful eyes, as she 
looked from one to the other of the dumbfounded 
group. For once, even a detective stood astounde'^h 
speechless. I glanced at Isabel Horner, whose face 
was fiendlike with triumph, but for this I cared i:ct 
when I saw the light of unspeakable admiration and 
holy love in Horace Ballard’s eyes as they rested upon 
niy sister’s calm face. 

Mr. Hampton’s power of speech at length return- 
ing to him, he stepped up to Ulrica and laying m's 
hand on her arm, said, “Then, madam, I must take 
you in custody for the crime of theft.” 

T looked at Mr. Ballard, but with little hope, as I 
thought of his intense grief over his loss. “Which 
does he love best, my sister or his gold?’’ I mentally 
ejaculated as he stood irresolute a few moments. A 
desperate struggle it was too decide, — I knew by his" 


- V 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


245 


working face which chronicled so faithfully every 
conflicting emotion. Grief and uncertainty at length 
gave place to angry determination. I turned away, 
sick with apprehension, for I believed he would pros- 
ecute her. 

But no! He ran and struck away Mr. Hampton’s 
hand and cried out : 

"How dare you insinuate such a thing, unhand her! 
1 told her she could have it. It was a mere npthing, 
a mere nothing. What do you mean any way, by 
coming up here, poking your nose into other peoole’s 
aflfairs, when you’re not wanted. Get off these prem- 
ises or I’ll ^et the dogs on you.” 

As he paused for breath Mr. Hampton, who had 
stood aghast at this unexepected proceeding, said, ex- 
postulatingly, “But the law must be satisfied; she 
stands self accused.” 

With increased anger the old man cried, “You just 
dare to ever mention this affair again and I’ll swear by 
the high heavens that I dug up the paltry stuff myself 
and placed it in her hands.” 

He shook his clenched hand in the detective’s face 
treateningly. 

Bursting suddenly into a laugh, the man stepped 
back, no doubt comprehending just how matters 
stood. I doubted not that this was the first generous 
act the old man had ever performed. Horace took 
Mr. Hampton to one side and said, “I know all about 
it. It is all right ; let the matter drop, Mr. Hampton.” 

“Perhaps your father is a little — ” and he tapped his 
forehead significantly. 

“My father is very old,” said Horace gently. 


246 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


Mr. Hampton was our guest until the morrow, when 
he smilingly took his departure, little dreaming, as did 
any of us, how soon he would return on a more impor- 
tant mission than this one had proved to be. 

Before we left the garden that day Mr. Ballard 
turned to Ulrica and assured her in quivering tones, 
“You are perfectly welcome to it, my dear, perfectly 
welcome. I’ll make it all back again,” he declared, a 
little ring of hope creeping into his voice. 

“I’ll raise the rents on those lazy beggars. I'll cut 
down the wages of the field hands and make them 
work twice as hard as they have been doing. Oh, I’ll 
get it all back some way.” 

Catching sight of Isabel Horner as she turned 
toward the house, his anger was again in the ascend- 
ant. Pointing a trembling finger at her, he cried, “It 
was you who put it into my head to send for that med- 
dlesome rascal. You great big read-headed minx. I 
wish you would go home, any way.” 

Receiving no reply he turned again to Ulrica and in 
unsteady, imploring tones said, “You haven’t spent it 
yet, Ulrica ? Oh, say that you haven’t spent it !” 

There was such childish fear in his voice as to the 
answer he might receive that I almost found it in my 
heart to pity him. 

“I have given away every penny of it,” she said 
quietly. 

He sank prostrate and wept aloud. We were com- 
pelled to leave him there until a late hour, when Hor- 
ace again induced him to come indoors. 

Mrs. Ballard extolled my sister's act greatly, and 
declared that though she herself could never have been 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


247 


brave enough to do such a thing, she admired the one 
who was; that it was perfectly right for the money 
to be used in benefiting the needy instead of lying idle, 
as it had so long. Moreover, the utter discomfiture of 
the old man, for what seemed to her so trivial a cause, 
was a real source of merriment to her. She would 
laugh immoderately each time the afifair came to mind. 

The following day, as we were still sitting in the 
parlor, after some callers had taken their departure, I 
remarked that the Horners must be very wealthy. 

“Oh, no,” she replied; “on the contrary, they are 
practically bankrupt. You must have noticed,” she 
went on, “how shabbily gowned both Mrs. Horner and 
Grace were while here. Mr. Horner is distracted 
with debt. Isabel spends everything on her wardrobe 
and jewels. To judge from the lavishness of both, one 
must naturally conclude that they are the possessors 
of much wealth. Look at Isabel now,” she said, as the 
young lady was walking in the garden, clad in a hand- 
some ruby silk gown, its rich folds gleaming in the 
sunlight, enhancing her marvelous beauty in a won- 
derful manner. “No doubt that very gown, which has 
been sent up from the city since Mrs. Horner’s de- 
parture, has cost the poor woman many deprivations 
and hardships. 

I was much surprised, for Isabel Horner’s collec- 
tions of jewels were far superior to that of Mrs. Bal- 
lard, and each day brought forth something new in the 
line of dainty, beribboned, lace-trimmed gowns. Then 
there must be wealth where this girl bestowed her 
hand ; no doubt her love for Horace Ballard had found 
its greatest incentive in his probable inheritance. 


248 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


“Isabel should make a brilliant marriage with her 
unusual beauty/’ continued Mrs. Ballard, musingly ; 
“but she is so proud and cold, though she is not so to 
some one I know,” she continued with a little laugh. 

At that moment Horace, passing through the garden 
on his way from the fields, had paused to speak with 
her. Plucking a beautiful white lily with some laugh- 
ing remark, he placed it in her red-gold hair. Smiling 
sweet and tender she grew in a moment. 

“No one could think her cold now,” said Mrs. Bal- 
lard; “but with all her beauty and magnificent ap- 
parel she stands less chance of winning his heart than 
if she would don a five-cent print and kneel to wash 
up the floor of her father’s kitchen, as I have seen her 
little sister Grace do time after time.” 

Mrs. Ballard relapsed into meditative silence, and 
Horace, after lingering a few moments by Isabel 
Horner’s side, lifted his hat to her, turned and came 
toward the house, his light, firm step making sweetest 
music to me, for I doubt much if I could have told 
even then which I loved best, him or Ulrica. 

The following day Mrs. Ballard and I went to the 
city, though I was much disturbed. However, my 
duty was to follow my employer’s wishes, and I could 
make no demur. As we were making some necessary 
purchases preparatory to our return, Mrs. Ballard in- 
sisted that I carry home a handsome black silk gown 
for Ulrica. 

“She would be magnificent so gowned,” she de- 
clared, “and I do love to see beauty suitably clad.” 
She generously offered to advance Ulrica’s salary, if 
I had not a sufficient sum. 


CLiMBINGr THE IIElOHTS. 


249 


“T think she has already made plans for the expendi- 
ture of her next month’s salary/’ I said hesitatingly. 

“Nonsense,” cried she cheerfully; “there’s no wis- 
dom in one so lovely wasting her best days in wearing 
such simple — yes, positively shabby, apparel.” 

I purchased the gown, but with many misgivings. 
When Ulrica saw it a little glad light came into her 
eyes and she ran her hand over the soft, glistening 
folds, as though the very feel of it seemed good. But 
presently, pushing it from her, a determined look set- 
tled m her eyes, where the glad light had been. 

“I cannot wear it,” she said firmly. 

■'Why not, Ulrica? It will be very serivceable,” I 
said pettishly. 

“Yes, and I know something I can do with its price, 
which will serve me for all eternity,” she answered. 
“It must be returned with as" little loss as possible. 
Olive, dear, I fear you are growing very worldly,” she 
added gently. 

I noted the deep, almost holy light of renunciation in 
her eyes, and was filled with joyous admiration as I 
realized that she was not to be tempted by worldly 
things, great or small. 

“Dear,” I cried, “it is so easy for you to be good !” 

“Easy, Olive, easy,” she said, looking strangely at 
me. “Oh, if you did but know, if you did but know ! 
Do you think that temptation does not come to me 
with as great force and in as many deceptive guises as 
to others? Why, Olive, I do believe that your secret 
thoughts, compared to my own, are as sunlight com- 
pared to Stygian darkness.” 

“Listen and I will tell you something,” she said, 


250 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


standing before me with clasped hands and sorrow- 
darkened eyes. “You remember that last scene I had 
with Martha, when she so unjustly assailed my honor. 
But perhaps you were not aware that when I stepped 
forward and raised my hand it was to grasp the knife 
lying upon the kitchen table. You saw me stop quite 
still and struggle with my evil thoughts — yes, mur- 
derous thoughts they were, for in that moment I hated 
her with a deadly hatred — such fierce hatred — that I 
forgot all things save my bloodthirsty desire to take 
her life. She read my thoughts aright, I know by her 
blanched face and staring eyes. But I ruled my spirit. 
^h)u know how well. Again — ” 

“Oh, Ulrica,” I cried, aghast, “stop !” 

“Wait,” she said, holding up one hand, enjoining 
silence. “All my life I have longed with a desperate 
longing for the luxuries which great wealth can pro- 
cure. I have longed to array myself in rich and costly 
garments. I have longed to be decked with shining 
jewels. I love to feel these soft carpets beneath my 
feet and behold the grandeur and lavish display of 
these costly objects which are gathered about us here. 
So well do I love these things that no day passes in 
which I do not blush with shame that it is so, for 
never, never will I revel in luxury while there is one 
suffering, needy creature in existence.” 

A most dazzling light enveloped her countenance as 
she made this great vow. How great a vow only those 
sharing her strange beliefs could realize. For by it 
did she not doom herself to the woes of poverty for 
countless future ages? Aye, all down the dim vista of 
the coming centuries, centuries upon centuries, ages 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


251 


upon ages, while objective life exists will there not he 
suffering? How long, then, must she go her lowly 
way, laboring amongst her fellow creatures ? I sought 
to follow this train of thought and find the answer, but 
thought grew dim and faded into nothingness. Was 
her crown lost in the far-off mists? No, oh no! for 
justice rules. 

The light left her face and her eyes suddenly dark- 
ened with a sort of fear, as she came near to me and 
continued : “And there is something more, Olive, I 
wish to tell you, something still more, shameful than all 
else. That day when I carried the gold to the city, the 
horrible temptation came to me, like a demon, seeming 
to wdiisper in alluring tones, ‘Why not flee to him 
with this wealth ? He is alone and bankrupt. Why not 
go and taste of the exquisite delights of love, a thing 
you have never known? Such an opportunity may 
never present itself again. Do not permit this great 
happiness to slip from you.’ 

‘‘Indeed, Olive,” she cried shudderingly,“I so far 
succumbed to my desires that I was on the point of 
purchasing a ticket to Richmond. As I stood waiting 
there, holding that satchel, heavy with its weight of 
gold, each moment its heaviness increased until it 
seemed I could stand no longer beneath its enormous 
weight. Oh, yes; it was even as a demon dragging 
me to perdition. 

“The suffering, pinched faces of those little children 
and the tear-stained ones of their mothers whom I had 
started out to succor, arose before me wdth mute lips 
and appealing eyes. Still that voice kept wdiispering. 
‘Rail, what are they to you? Have you not already 


252 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


sacrificed enough of worldly pleasures for such as 
they? Why should you give up the one great joy of 
your life ?’ Still I stood at that little window, waiting 
for my ticket. I was leaving you, and my little child — 
aye, even my soul’s salvation behind me, even as on 
that other time. But help came, Oliv^, for Horace’s 
face arose before me, his clear eyes, soft with a great 
pity as they searched my innermost soul in that mad 
moment. Then I heard his voice, his voice, so full of 
strength, so tender, and yet so firm, say, ‘Not that, 
Ulrica.’ 

“With a shock I remembered my surroundings. The 
ticket agent was staring at me blankly. ‘What place 
did you say, madam? I did not hear.’ But I shook 
my head and turned away, so overjoyed at my deliv- 
erance that I was incapable of speech. 

“Oh, Olive, to think, just to think, how near I came 
to making a theft of the taking of that gold !” she cried 
with white, quivering lips. 

But her voice grew soft and steady as she said, 
“How good it is to call one like Horace Ballard friend. 
I think I could scarcely stand alone but for his sup- 
port.” 

Alas, the light in her eyes was but the light of 
friendship, and indeed a holy light to see. The recital 
of her recent temptation proved to me too surely that 
she still wore the image of that other one in her heart, 
and I feared that her will would yet prove weaker than 
her love and she would never be able to tear that image 
away and say, “I have conquered.” 


CHAPTER XXIL 

“in THE GARREN.” 

“Her pure, sad eyes, so clear, so soft, so bright. 

As in a spell, me thought could I behold 

Within their solemn veils, I would know love aright, 
And that divineness which no years make old.” 

The following evening, after Ulrica had played and 
sung us all into tears, she and I repaired to the garden, 
where Horace had preceded us. As was their custom, 
they paced the broad graveled walks, talking of many, 
many things that were as a sealed book to me. My 
presence was forgotten, and I was quite content that it 
was so as I sat almost hidden in the shadow of the 
vines enjoying the scene about me. 

It was now the middle of May, and the fair garden 
was in the height of its rich bloom. Heavy was the 
air with the langurous breath of a thousand blossoms, 
while the royal day king, as if regretting that he had 
betaken liis smiles from so fair a scene, shone with 
redoubled brilliancy upon his handmaiden, fair Luna, 
who flooded the landscape with chastened beams of 
silvery brightness. From out the sparkling, dewy 
border of grasses and tall laburnum bushes insects 
murmured sweet, as if to swell the hymn of a most 
sweet-throated night bird that was perched near by, 
thrilling the air as with the melodious notes of a score 
of feathered songsters. Long I sat thus and mused 
upon the past, also mapping out my sister's future, 
which I tried to assure myself would be a golden one. 


254 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


I came back to the present with a start as I heard her 
say, “It is quite late ; I must go in now, Horace.” 

“Just one moment, dear,” he said; “I have some- 
thing to tell you to-night. Can you not guess what it 
is, Ulrica?” 

With love-lit eyes he searched her face for some re- 
sponsive sign to his own all-absorbing love. 

“I will try,” she said. “You have learned something 
new, and — ” 

“No; it is something I have known a long time,” he 
interrupted. 

“Then why did you not explain it to me,” she asked 
quickly. “Could I not understand until now ?” 

“I scarcely dared tell you before,” he said softly. 
“But I cannot delay longer,” and smoothing back the 
curls from her white brow with lingering touch, he 
kissed it with lover’s lips, and she did not say him nay. 
Taking her lovely face between his hands, in his eyes 
the love light shining as I had never quite seen in 
man’s eyes before, mingled hope and uncertainty in his 
tender voice, he said, “Ulrica, sweet, do you love me?” 

There was no flutter of white eyelid, no flush man- 
tled the pearly white of cheek or brow: Looking at 
him, surprised and smiling, she answered, “Why, Hor- 
ace, you know I do.” 

When he spoke again his deeply tender voice thrilled 
with unspeakable joy. “Then, love, I am impatient to 
make you all my own. When will you be my wife, Ul- 
rica ?” 

Holding her close, he kissed her white face again 
and again, which did but grow whiter beneath his - 
caress. But soon she found strength to struggle from 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


255 


his clasp, and stood looking at him in dumb dismay. 
Putting out her hand as if to ward off a blow, she 
said, with such a ring of bitter pain and disappoint- 
ment in her voice that he could not mistake her mean- 
ing, “Oh, friend, not that !” 

Slowly the light died out of Horace Ballard’s eyes. 
His face grew white as her own as he realized that 
with that one word, “friend,” his hope and happiness 
had departed. Silently they stood and looked at each 
other, these two whom the Father in His divine wis- 
dom had intended as one, yet who for a space must be 
divided because the dark shadow of that other one still 
stood between them. 

As she saw the sorrow in his face, which even then 
h-e strove to conceal from her lest it cause her pain, 
she sought to take his hand as she raised her tear- 
dimmed eyes to his and cried, “Horace, I never once 
thought of this.” 

“Why not?” he asked in so changed a voice I could 
never have recognized it as his own. 

“Because, dear friend, I have loved, I love yet,” she 
said, “and it has blinded me.” 

“Yet you never told me, Ulrica,” he said reproach- 
fully. 

“I could not, it shames me so to love such a one,” 
she said, her voice sinking almost to a whisper. 

Plorace stepped back and stood in silence,, waiting 
tor her to pass on to the house. But at this she cried, 
wildly plucking at his sleeve, “Oh, Horace, call me 
friend; i could not bear to lose you.” 

“Asjuredlv I am your friend for all time, Ulrica,” 
he said, making a brave elfort to smile. And to please 


256 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


her he <;ook her hands in friendship and assured her 
again and again that she was blameless. A lesser man 
would, at such a time, have accused her of leading him 
to hope. But not Horace Ballard. 

“Now go in, dear; it is late,'’ he said, after a time; 
but still she tarried, loth to leave him. “Do go,” he at 
length cried out. “Oh, leave me ; I am not myself to- 
night.” 

There was that in his tone which demanded obedi- 
ence. She turned and left him, standing alone, alone 
indeed, with his shattered hopes and longing love, 
which he must have felt in that moment were destined 
to be forever fruitless. In his white face there was 
no vestige of hope, and with a bitter groan he turned 
to leave the spot, when directly in his path stood his 
father. His face was white also, white with fiendish 
anger, as he cried, fairly choking with unholy passion. 
“How dare you, you young vagabond! you miserable 
beggar! You think to cut the old man out, do you? 
Why, she referred to me when she said that she had 
loved, that she still loves.” 

Evidently he had not heard the completion of my 
sister's sentence in regard to the object of her love. 

Panting for breath, the irate old man continued: 
“Do you suppose that you’d stand any chance while a 
man like myself was by? Ulrica Warren is no fool; 
she knows a man when she sees one.” 

At another time I could have laughed at the exalted 
view in which he held his charms. 

“Oh, father, what are you saying?” cried Horace, 
staring at him incredulously. 

“Can't you understand plain English when it’s 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


267 


spoken?” he snarled, with increased anger. ‘Tf not, 
perhaps you can read it, and he fluttered a sheet of 
note paper in Horace’s face. Striking a match, he held 
it close and bade him read. When he had finished he 
said nothing, but stood in silence, thinking deeply. 

“Don’t that convince you, you young dog?” cried 
the old man. “Don’t she ask me to meet her by moon- 
light on the bridge? Don’t she say how she longs to 
be alone with me, from all prying eyes'? Don’t she 
sign herself, ‘your own Ulrica?’ 

“Why don’t you speak?” he continued wrathfully, 
raising his hand as if to strike Horace in the face. 

“There must be some mistake, father,’’ he answered, 
rousing himself. “She could never — ” 

“There is not,” interrupted the other. “I told her 
once that I loved her and she said she was very glad. 
Mistake indeed!” he ejaculated scornfully; “don’t I 
know she’ll have me? I’ve always felt convinced that 
she would, and now this little scrap of paper proves 
beyond a doubt that she loves me, me alone. 

“And I’ve something else to say to you, too,” he 
added, with a malicious grin ; “it shall be my revenge 
upon you for this night’s work. Now listen. When 
the sun sets to-morrow your sweet expectations to 
come into possession of my hard-earned gold will be 
a thing of the past. You miserable spendthrift! I’d 
rise from the very grave to prevent you from getting 
the smallest fraction of it in your hands. This matter 
shall be attended to at once, I tell you,” he went on, 
“for I hate you, boy— I’ve always hated you. Be gone 
from my sight.” 

“Oh, father, do not say that,” cried Horace im- 


258 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


ploringly. ‘T have done nothing to incur such bitter 
feelings. I do not wish to inspire hatred in any living 
creature.” 

‘T say it over a hundred times, I hate you. I hate 
you!’’ he replied; “and stop calling me father, too,” 
he added meanly. “You may not have the right, any- 
way. Fve always doubted it.” 

Horace Ballard took one step forward and looked 
at his father, a gleam in his eyes such as I had never 
seen there before. So fierce a gleam of fiery anger 
was it that I was minded to make my presence known, 
and rush between them. For in this just anger he 
towered above the puny old man as if he would crush 
him with one blow. But as I watched him, fearfully, 
breathlessly, I soon knew that my fears were ground- 
less. He stood quite still, and struggled manfully, 
more than manfully, with that demon of rage, even 
as I had seen my sister do on one occasion, in that 
dark, lonely farm house. And when I saw the angry 
gleam in his eyes give place to great and glad tri- 
umph, I knew that a mighty battle had been fought 
and won. When Horace spoke again his voice was 
soft and pityingly tender. “If I can bear calmly this 
insult offered my dead mother, I can bear anything. 
Father, I pity you. From my heart I pity you.” 

‘ ‘Verily a soft answer turneth away wrath.” The old 
man stood in shamed silence before his most noble 
son. Not long, however, could this old man keep 
silent, and in a creclfallen tone he. said, “Well, if you 
don’t believe Ulrica will meet me to-morrow night, 
you may watch and assure yourself that there has 
been no mistake made. Or perhaps you had better 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


259 


ask her early in the morning,” he added spitefully. 

‘T shall not see her in the morning, I shall watch,” 
answered Horace, something new and strange in his 
voice. 

It was thus father and son parted. And I, I lay 
for hours with my face in the dew-wet grass, crying 
out that it was not fair for one like Horace Ballard 
to be so sorely tried. I was angry with my sister, 
angry and wildly impatient. Why would she not take 
the gift of this man's love, which from the beginning 
of time was meant alone for her? Then as I remem- 
bered what prevented her from accepting the price- 
less gift, my anger gave place to sorrow and pity for 
her. Then, too, as that old man’s words kept echo- 
ing in my ears, I tried to solve the mystery, for mys- 
tery it was to me, of that letter, and I almost de- 
spaired. But one solution presented itself. And yet 
I tried to assure myself that she would not suffer to 
sacrifice herself to this old man, in order to use his 
great wealth for some benevolent purposes. But was 
she not ever doing strange and surprising things? 
Oh yes, she kept me in a continual state of perplexity 
and often dismay, but I am certain had she acted dif- 
ferently than she did in any instance, I should have lost 
some of the reverence in which I ever held her. Oh 
yes, my brain was indeed in a whirl with sorrow and 
uncertainty that night. When I rose to indoors the 
eastern skies were already glowing in anticipation of 
the coming of the day king. Reaching my room, I 
soon fell asleep. So late was it before I woke that 
Mrs. Ballard knocked on my door, begging admit- 
tance, fearing lest I was ill. And I was ill, with one 


260 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


of those agonizing sick headaches that seemingly cause 
the world and its events to stand still and wait for 
one’s recovery. I inquired immediately for Ulrica, in- 
tending to inform her of what occurred in the garden 
after her departure. I also wished for an explanation 
of that letter which was in Mr. Ballard’s possession. 
But she and the children had gone in the carriage, 
quite early, to a neighbor’s and were not to return 
until evening. Mrs. Ballard and Nannie did what they 
could for me, and sat by me in turns all day. Late in 
the afternoon I inquired for Horace. I longed to as- 
sure him that it was not, it could not be, true, that 
which his father had told him. 

‘T have not seen him to-day,” Mrs. Ballard told me. 
‘‘He is very busy, you know, and he may have break- 
fasted with one of the tenants. He often does when 
obliged to be out at an early hour.” 

So the opportunity to comfort him did not present 
itself. 

“I wonder what ails father to-day?" I heard Mrs. 
Ballard say to Nannie later in the evening. “He has 
been brushing his clothes most carefully, has trimmed 
his whiskers and given them a new coat of dye. And 
even twisted that new wig into little corkscrew curls, 
which droop on his shoulders most beautifully. I 
wish you could see him,” she said, turning to me ; “the 
smile on his face alone would cure your headache at 
once. But when I asked him if he wished to borrow 
my train to complete his beautiful toilet, he looked at 
me so murderously that I fled in dismay,” and she 
laughed gayly at the remembrance. 

“When we went to the village to-day,” she contin- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


261 


lied, ‘‘to make out the deed to this place” (she hav- 
ing sold her estate to Mr. Ballard) “what do you 
think he brought b^ck?” 

I told her I could not even guess. 

“A ring,” she declared. “He must intend coming 
to the point soon. I wish I could see Ulrica’s face 
when he lays his heart at her feet,” and she laughed 
immoderately as she pictured the probable scene. 

It was thus the hours passed. She found so much 
cause for merriment whilst chronicling the old man’s 
eccentricities that at times I was forced to laugh de- 
spite my maddening brain. 

“What sort of woman was Horace’s mother?” I 
asked her. 

“I never knew her,” she answered, checking her 
mirth at once, “but from all I have heard I think her 
a most extraordinary character. It seems that she mar- 
ried, or as I should put it, sacrificed herself to Hor- 
ace’s father with the mistaken idea that by so doing 
she could provide her aged father with medical aid and 
a peaceful home, and also do many good deeds for 
others. But in that she was mistaken, for no common 
laborer’s wife ever endured a life of such hardship and 
toil as was her portion. Her father died of a broken 
heart when he realized the sacrifice she had made for 
his sake, and she soon followed him to the grave, 
partly from the same cause, partly from overwork.” 

And this is exactly what my sister is intending to 
do, I assured myself with a sinking heart. 

Well I knew that she would never hesitate to make 
any personal sacrifice, however great, in order to better 
the condition of the least portion of suffering human- 


262 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


ity. Well, indeed, I knew that no arguments of mine 
could induce her to alter her mind when she had once 
decided that her duty lay in performing a certain act. 
Later in the evening, when we were momentarily ex- 
pecting her return, the sky swiftly grew overcast, and 
almost immediately a storm was upon us, a storm 
which bade fair to last far into the night. 

I felt sure that Ulrica would not return home until 
the following morning, and I, drowsy from the pain in 
my head, soon fell asleep, secure in the belief that that 
proposed meeting at the bridge would not take place 
that night. O, that fatal, fatal sleep ! Why did all 
things, even the very elements, conspire against me in 
order to thwart me in my efforts to prevent that whicii 
was to be? Just before I sank into that fatal sleep 1 
remember hearing Mrs. Ballard whisper to Nannie, 
bidding her look into the hall as she opened my door 
a very little. They both stood and watched the strange 
actions of Mr. Ballard, who was trotting excitedly up 
and down the length of the hall. 

He passed and repassed my door, wringing his 
hands and moaning most pitifully. “Oh, this will ruin 
it all; it will ruin it all!” he repeated again and again. 
“This cursed storm, this thrice cursed storm, might 
have waited. Oh, what shall I do, what shall I clo? 
Moonlight on the bridge. Just think of it, how suit- 
able. But now — oh dear, what shall I do?” 

And so, utterly oblivious to the fact that there might 
be observers, he still trotted up and down the hall, 
railing at the untimely storm. 

Mrs. Ballard suddenly opened wide the door and 
looked out. “What is it, father?” she said, throwing 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


26 S 


sympathizing pity into her voice, as if addressing a 
sorrowing little child. “Has some one taken more of 
your precious ones?” 

He turned and confronted her, the bright light fall- 
ing full on his weazened face. Evidently he had been 
shedding briny tears, and in the effort to wipe them 
away with his kerchief they had come in contact with 
his jetty eyebrows, which fact had proved most dis- 
astrous to his beauty. Great streaks of sable hue dec- 
orated his sunken cheeks in a most striking manner. 
Mrs. Ballard’s screams of laughter, accompanied by 
Nannie’s, were still echoing and re-echoing through 
the house long after he had fled to his room, slammed, 
and bolted his door. 

Some hours later I woke with a start. The moon was 
shining directly in my face, and I was alone. My ill- 
ness had vanished as completely as had the storm. 
Springing up, I hurried to my sister’s room to see if 
she had chanced to return. I found that her lamp had 
been lighted, and I suddenly remembered that it was 
the closing of a door that had awakened me. I glanced 
at the clock on the mantel, whose hands pointed to the 
half hour aften ten. Despite the lateness of the hour, 
she meant to keep her tryst with Mr. Ballard. I turned 
and sped quickly down the broad stairs, through the 
brilliantly lighted hall below, thence through the side 
door and followed the path leading to the bridge. I 
would overtake her, if possible, and beg her not to go. 
T hastened my steps, instinctively feeling that some 
horrible catastrophe was about to take place. 

There was still a light wind which disturbed the top- 
most branches of the tall forest trees, sending down 


264 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


little showers of rain drops on my uncovered head. 
Drifts of white clouds were scurryin^^ across the face 
of the moon, as if racing in their desire to join the 
dark bank of cloud lying low on the northern horizon. 
The storm had cleared the atmosphere and the moon- 
beams shone with redoubled brilliancy. All this I 
noted as I hastened my steps still more. I was com- 
pelled to pause for breath as I came in full view of 
the bridge, on one end of which my sister and Mr. 
Ballard stood. 

As I have said before, the bridge was attached to the 
trunk of a gigantic oak, whose spreading branches 
reached far out over the deep ravine which it spanned. 
The moonbeams, filtering through the tree tons, fell 
directly on her white-robed figure, as she stood listen- 
ing to the other’s words. I did not hear her utter a 
word, and I knew by her very attitude that her silence 
was the silence of amazement. Then — oh ! even now 
I shrink from chronicling what took place, for the hor- 
ror comes back and clings to me. Rut I must on with 
my narrative. Then the old man stepped forward and 
sought to take her hands, and she threw them out sud- 
denly as if to warn him to keep back. 

Before I could move or form any plan of action I 
saw him fall backward, grasp at. a projecting limb of 
the oak, miss it as he went .over into that black, yawn- 
ing abyss. A cry of such agonizing fear broke the 
stillness of the night, a cry so piercing and full of hor- 
ror that it caused my blood to congeal in my veins, as 
it were, and I could neither move nor speak as I gazed 
on the spot where the old man had stood so short a 
time before. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


265 


My sister turned and fled, passing me with unseeing 
eyes, her face white and drawn. Still I stood immov- 
able, and — I saw something more. Horace Ballard 
rose from the trunk of a fallen tree near me, so near 
I might have reached out my hand and touched him. 

“Oh, my poor, misguided Ulrica !” he cried aloud ; 
“how can I believe what I have seen this night?” 

Throwing his hat to the ground, he turned to leave 
the spot, then hesitating a moment, pulled his kerchief 
from his pocket, threw it also to the ground, and fled 
to the woods like a mad man. 

The truth flashed to my dazed brain. He had done 
this to shield her crime. He had left these proofs be- 
hind and fled that all might believe him guilty and so 
pass her by. Had he taken time to reason, to let his 
better judgment predominate in that mad moment, lie 
would have known that my sister would not have it so. 
It was an heroic and yet a weak thing to do, proving 
that with all his loftiness of spirit, all his greatness of 
mind, he was still not infallible. But was it any won- 
der that in the face of that circumstance he should lose 
faith in her, and with it, his better judgment? 

I was minded to follow him and tell him that I knew 
he was innocent ; tell him to let her suffer for her 
crime ; that she was all unworthy of this great sacri- 
fice, and his still greater love. Had I to do it again 
I should wade through mire to my knees in order to 
reach him, through piercing thorns and over jagged 
stones, until my feet were torn and bleeding, that I 
might comfort him. 

But the ties of blood and a life time’s love forbade, 
so I turned to the one who needed me least. 


266 


Climbing the heights. 


My one desire was to get my sister to her room un- 
observed. All my thoughts were centered upon ac- 
complishing this as I sped after her, terror and despair 
in my heart. We reached the side entrance at the 
same moment. The door opened suddenly, and wo 
were confronted by — Isabel Horner. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

“murder.” 

“It matters not, for if the singer’s heart 
Of the great heart of Nature is a part, 

No clogging circumstance of earth can chill 
The living song with which its pulses thrill, 

Aye, though the bitterness of death be nigh. 

Though sullen clouds obscure the smiling sky. 
Though bound in dungeon deep or castle strong, 
The soul will soar to God in chainless song.” 

— Mortimer C. Brown. 

“What horrible cry was that I heard, Ulrica War- 
ren?” she asked, with glittering eyes, scanning my 
sister’s white, terrified face. 

“We must summon help,” cried Ulrica. “Call 
Charles and the others. There must be ropes and lan- 
terns taken to the bridge. Mr. Ballard — ” here her 
voice failed her completely. 

I could only stand by, helpless, silent and dazed. 
Isabel Horner quickly summoned the servants, tell- 
ing them that something horrible had taken place at 
the bridge, that Mr. Ballard had perhaps been mur- 
dered. She brought Mrs. Ballard from above stairs, 
and she ran wildly to Horace’s room, but found no 
sign of his presence since the day before. 

Ulrica led the way back to the bridge. A terrified 
group, we stood on the brink of that yawning abyss, 
striving to pierce the impenetrable blackness while a 


168 CLIMBING TIlE HEIGHTS. 


light was lowered into the depths. At length we dis- 
covered the body of the old man, lying quite still where 
h.e had lodged on a ledge of rock, a short distance 
above the angry stream, which was swollen by the re- 
cent rain. A rope was placed about Charles, and he 
was lowered into the chasm. Other ropes were let 
down, which he made fast about the body, and the 
poor old shattered frame was drawn up to where we 
stood with blanched faces and trembling limbs. Not a 
vestige of life remained ; his neck and both arms had 
been broken by the fall. Surely death had been mer- 
ciful, for it had come swiftly and surely. Mrs. Bal- 
lard was almost overcome, and cried, wildly, “Ulrica, 
tell us how it happened.” 

My sister opened her lips to speak, when Nannie 
suddenly cried out that she had found some article on 
the ground, and fetching it quickly to the light, each 
and every one recognized it as the hat worn by Hor- 
ace when last seen. His kerchief was also found. 

My sister looked upon these objects and seemed to 
ponder deeply. Again Mrs. Ballard implored her to 
explain. 

“I cannot,” she said, rousing herself a little and 
looking most strangely at her questioner. 

“She means that she will not,” came Isabel Hor- 
ner’s voice, sharp and cutting, “for she knows how it 
happened. Ulrica Warren is a murderess.” 

My sister stood quite still and said — nothing. Con- 
ste»-nation and horror were written on every face. 

^'Ulrica, deny it,” cried Mrs. Ballard, shaking her 
rouf^hly in her excitement. 

“I know, Mrs. Ballard,” she said, “however great 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


269 


the provocation, whatever the motive, it was still a ter- 
rible thing to do.” 

Again she relapsed into deep meditative silence, and 
she did not deny the accusation. Our kind friend 
stepped back, and I know by the increased horror on 
her face that she believed my sister guilty. It was, 
indeed, a sad white-faced procession that wended its 
way in silence along that woodland path where scarce 
two hours before the old man had tripped gaily to 
meet his love by moonlight. 

The body was laid in the long room which had 
served as ball room such a short time ago. I followed 
my sister to her room after Mrs. Ballard had taken 
my hands and assured me that she was still my friend. 

“I pity you, Olive,” she said, weeping bitterly, 
“from my heart I pity you.” 

I found my sister, lost in deepest thought, white 
and silent. I did not question her. I also was silent, 
as a hundred conflicting thoughts arose to torture my 
fevered brain. Even then had she denied the crime 
I would have believed her. I had more faith in the 
truth of her word than I had in my own eyesight. 
Though I had seen I would not believe if she would 
but deny it. But she did not. Could it be possible 
that she would yet look at me with a light of heroism 
m her eyes, such as might have been worn by the brave 
woman who rid her countrymen of the bloody tyrant 
Marat, and assure me that there were times when even 
murder was commendable ? That by the ending of this 
one puny, worthless life, so many lives might be made 
happy and useful by the use of his great wealth. 
Though at that time she was not aware of the dead 


270 


CLIMBING TFIE HEIGHTS 


man’s altered will, she knew that Horace Ballard 
would so dispose of his inheritance when it came to 
him. 

“Yes, there must be some such motive for the deed, 
which makes it plausible and right according to her 
view,” I decided. And then a still more horrible 
pain shot through my heart as I remembered some 
words spoken by her but two days since. 

“Had that old man said something which had fired 
her to such fierce, quick anger that the temptation 
to take his life had mastered her for the time being, 
as it had so nearly done on that occasion with 
Martha? I looked at her in wild despair as she sat 
so white and still, with that puzzled expression of 
deep thoughtfulness and yet I did not question her. 

With the early morning light came Mr, Hamp- 
ton, accompanied by a brother detective. Later came 
the coroner to hold an inquest over the dead body. 
The two detectives hastened to view the spot where 
the murder had been committed. After questioning 
the servants and being told of the finding of the 
articles belonging to Horace, they satisfied them- 
selves that he was implicated in the murder of his 
father, if not the direct cause. 

Many were present at the inquest and all looked 
askance at my sister as she entered the room. In 
her great black eyes there was a pitying light as she 
looked upon the dead man's face ; but not a vestige 
of fear was discernible in their clear depths. Yet this 
fact brought me no comfort for well I knew that she 
would bear the consequences of the crime, whatever 
they were, bravely and unflinchingly. The servants 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


271 


were first questioned, all telling the same story. 
Mrs. Ballard’s story also Coincided exactly with theirs. 
Then Isabel Horner with many malicious glances in 
my sister’s direction, told how she had heard a horri- 
ble cry, coming from the direction of the bridge, and 
running from her room had met Ulrica Warren at the 
north entrance, her face white, as with great fear. 
How she had ordered ropes and lanterns to ,lje taken 
to the bridge at once, no doubt thinking that all sub- 
terfuge were useless, as she had been caught red- 
handed, as it were. With steady, heartless precision 
she related all that had been said while we stood 
around the dead body, as it lay at our feet when first 
rescued. 

Through it all my sister stood immovable, white 
and deeply thoughtful. But when the decision was 
finally rendered, that Horace Ballard was also im- 
plicated in the murder, no doubt planning it out long 
before, she spoke up at once. 

“Horace Ballard is utterly incapable of conspiring 
with any one in order to bring about the death of his 
father, whom he loved,” she said, her face lighting up 
gloriously, a ring of decision in her voice. “I know he 
is innocent of that!’’ 

“Ah, some one must have done it, young lady; evi- 
dently you were present when it took place,” said the 
coroner sharply. 

“Oh, yes, I — ” then she closed her lips firmly. 

Plainly she knew more than she would tell. 

“Then who did it?” came the question straight. 

“That I cannot tell. I must have more time to 
think,” she made answer. 


272 


CLIMBING THE HPHGHTS. 


He looked significantly at the detective. Isabel Hor- 
ner had been speaking in an undertone to the latter, 
who turned to the coroner and said, “Her sister, Mrs. 
Blackburn, was out also during the time this must 
have taken place. Perhaps she can throw more light 
on this affair.’’ 

The coroner turned to me sharply with, “What did 
you see?” 

I looked my agony at my sister. Every one noted my 
hesitation as I reluctantly began my story. 

“I followed my sister last night,’’ 1 stammered, 
“thinking to overtake her and persuade her to return 
with me, but — ’’ 

“Why did you wish her to return with you? How 
did you know she was going to the bridge at that late 
hour?” interrupted my questioner, with his sharp 
glance upon me. 

After a painful silence I stammered out : “I over- 
heard a conversation between Horace Ballard and his 
father the evening before and I — 1 feared — ” In wild 
confusion I hesitated and then became silent. 

“Ah-,” exclaimed the conorer with a knowing smile, 
“go on with your story ; this is growing interesting.” 

So closely questioned was I that I was compelled 
to tell how I had seen my sister throw out her hands, 
how I had seen the old man at that moment go over 
the side ‘of the bridge, and then how she had flevl 
toward the house with white, terrified face. 

An ominous silence followed these statements, then 
some one near me whispered, “She will not shield the 
murderess.” 

“Did you see nothing more, absolutely nothing?^’ 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


273 


The question came so suddenly I was taken una- 
wares and my face burned with the fiery wave of 
shame which surged over it as I thought, ‘T can save 
my sister by condemning Horace Ballard.” Then I as 
suddenly felt that she would not have it so. 

I scarcely knew what to say in my perplexity, but 
when I was questioned still more sharply, ! said that 
I had seen Horace Ballard flee to the woods after that 
death-cry had pierced the night air so widly. But — 
I did not tell them that I knew lie was innocent. I 
looked at my sister and noted that she was listening 
to my words intently, almost breathlessly. 

”Ah, ah,” exclaimed the coroner, musingly. 

After a few moments of thought he resumed : “In 
this conversation which you overheard between Mr. 
Ballard and his son, did any disagreement arise — any 
unpleasantness ?” 

Again the blood rushed to my face and I was silent. 
But finally it was all drawn from my reluctant lips, all 
the story of that scene between father and son the 
night before the murder. 

“So,” declared the coroner, when I had done, “the 
woman writes a note to the old man who is in love 
with her to decoy him to a lonely spot, and there the 
man, who has quarreled with his father, this self-same 
old man, meets her, and together they make away with 
him. A sad business, a very sad business. But why 
he should run away, thus proving his guilt beyond 
doubt, is a little puzzling. However, he may have been 
overcome with fear at the moment,” he concluded. 

It was thought strange indeed that a young man 
should absent himself so suddenly, knowing that his 


274 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


father lay dead at the bottom of that horrible abyss 
and not come to his aid, unless he were implicated in 
bringing about the death. 

“So his disappearace, coupled with the evidence of 
guilt found upon the spot, implicates him irretriev- 
ably,” concluded the coroner. It was thus settled that 
William R. Ballard came to his death at the hands of 
Ulrica Warren and Horace Ballard. 

My sister was immediately arrested. 

When Mr. Ballard’s papers were searched and his 
will in her favor found, it but added new cause for 
belief in her guilt. Her face depicted no emotion save 
surprise, a very great surprise when she learned of 
its contents. 

“Oh, if I did but knc'?: what to do !” she cried, that 
puzzled look settling again in her eyes. “But I will 
go,” she added, as if to herself. 

“Certainly you will go,” said Mr. Hampton, who 
had her in charge. “The old man cannot refuse to 
have you prosecuted for taking his life as he did for 
taking his gold.” 

But I doubt if she heard him. 

So it was that she was remanded to prison cell ^o 
await her trial for murder. I left Mrs. Ballard after 
the funeral and took up my residence in the city, near 
the prison where my sister was incarcerated.' 

Nothing had yet been heard of Horace, though a 
vigorous search was being made in order to bring 
him to justice, I was informed. “Oh, if he would 
but return,” was my one cry. How. my thoughts 
followed him in his exile, while I was almost wild 
to make known to him. the horrible necessity that had 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


275 


caused me to keep back a part of the truth. For I 
knew that, wherever he wao^ he would keep posted 
througli the papers and all I had said had been put 
in glaring print. 

Perhaps, after all, my deception would prove to be 
useless, for my sister would never permit him to 
suffer for this crime, and yet, why did she not sa^ 
that she knew he was innocent when that decision 
implicating him was made. 

I did indeed long to comfort him in the deep sor- 
row he was suffering from his disappointed love and 
the other horror which had made it doubly hard to 
bear. The labyrinth of mystery and despair into 
which 1 had fallen dazed my brain until I was in- 
capable of reasoning further. The only fact that 
seemed clear tO' me, was that my sister had committed 
this crime and that she must suffer the penalty. 

Bowed down with grief and horror I crept to the 
prison and begged to see her at the first oppor- 
tunity. The jailor conducted me down a flight of 
steps, through a long echoing corridor, and unlock- 
ing the heavy iron door of a cell bade me enter. My 
sister turned from the small grated window through 
which a bar of sunlight had found its way, and 
greeted me with the question, “Have you yet heard 
of Horace?’' 

“No," I answered sadly. 

“It is strange, very strange, yet I know that he 
will come when he learns where I am. He will sure- 
ly be able to clear up this mystery," she added. 

“Mystery," I exclaimed, greatly puzzled, as I noted 
the calm light in her eyes, “how can she be thus 


276 


CLIMBING tup: HEIGHTS. 


self-possessed while in such a horrible position/’ I 
mentally ejaculated. 

Though a puzzled, sorrowful expression still dwelt 
upon her face, she seemed even as she had in other 
times. I scarcely knew what to believe. I knew 
that Horace Ballard was innocent, so how could 
I believe her to be also after what T had seen. I 
visibly shuddered as she stood smoothing back my 
hair in, her caressing manner, shuddered at touch of 
that hand, which I believed had taken the life of a 
fellow creature. 

“What is it, Olive?’’ she asked in surprise, as she 
took away her hand, and looked intently at me. 

Before me rose a vision of the tear-stained face 
of a little child with chubby legs, half bared to the 
drifting snow, crying out piteously for my love and 
protection. I thought of all the cruel circumstances 
of this child’s past, as she grew to womanhood, and 
how bravely, how nobly she had endured. How she 
had ever risen triumphant above the temptations that 
beset her pathway, never once falling from that high 
pedestal where stand only the virtuous and true, a- 
shining example for those who wished to follow. I 
knew her life to be far exalted above any other I 
had known in its purity of purpose. And was I to 
shrink from her because she had at last made a 
misstep and fallen ? For surely she had fallen, what- 
ever her motive had been. 

But my love for her engulfed all my doubts and 
fears, as I clasped her to my heart, crying out, 

“Oh, Ulrica, how did you ever come to do it?” 

She drew away and looked at me in silence. Sur- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


277 


prise at length giving place to certainty in her sad, 
accusing eyes, she said, ‘Ts it possible that you be- 
lieve me guilty?’ 

A moment I stood before her, my eyes falling be- 
neath her glance. Then I seemed to shrink into 
nothingness, as it were, until I found myself grovel- 
ing at her feet, striving to kiss the very hem of her 
garment, in very bitter self-condemnation. How had 
I dared to doubt her?” 

“Nay, dear sister, you may kiss my face,” she said, 
stooping to raise me from the ground. But I still 
knelt there, crying out that I was all unworthy. 

“Nay, Olive,” she said, “you who have entered 
into all niy joys and sorrows, and have ever been 
such a true friend, such a loving sister. You, Olive, 
are indeed worthy of my greatest love and devotion 
now and always.” 

“I do not blame you,” she continued sadly, “for 
the circumstances were very condemning, but still I 
never dreamed that you doubted me. There is one, 
who knows me better than you do, dear,” she said 
a little chidingly, “one who would not bedieve me 
guilty of so heinous a crime in the face of any cir- 
cumstances.” 

“Oh my poor Ulrica,” I cried, “is it possible that 
you do not understand the motive which prompted 
Horace Ballard to absent himself at such a time, 
leaving those articles purposely upon the spot? It 
was to direct suspicion toward himself that you might 
go free. I saw him place them there and he be- 
lieved you guilty.” 

Instead of the sorrow I expected this information 


278 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


to bring to her, a light of great indescribable joy lit 
up her face, and echoed in her voice, and from that 
moment I knew that all was well, as she said, ‘‘Now 
I know.” 

“Why did you not tell this at the inquest?” she 
asked. 

“I dared not implicate you irretrievably, by declar- 
ing that I knew he was innocent,” I answered. 

“Oh, Olive,” she cried, “you are a professed Chris- 
tian. Do you not know that with the truth comes 
the light?” 

But I could make no answer, my fault seemed too 
glaring. 

“It is quite clear to me now,” she continued, “there 
was another participant in that scene, for I distinc- 
tively saw a hand reach out from behind that oak 
tree and push the poor old man to his death.” 

With a great rush of tears, tears such as no sprrov/ 
had ever wrung from me, I fell prostrate and wept 
for very joy. 

“Free, free! Both free from this horrible crime,” 
I repeated over and over. 

“Tell me all, dear,” I at length gasped out, laugh- 
ing hysterically through my tears. 

“I have also had doubts which put me to shame, 
Olive,” she began. “In that terrible moment when 
Isabel Horner denounced me as murderess, I opened 
my lips to deny it, but as those articles belonging to 
Horace were found and his absence unexplained, like 
a flash the thought came to me, ‘He has done this 
thing in a momentary fit of mad jealousy,’ for in the 
few words that Mr. Ballard spoke to me, he told me 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


279 


that he had assured Horace of my intention to become 
his wife ; that Horace refused to believe it and meant 
to watch and see if I would keep a tryst which I my- 
self had proposed. So dumb was I with amazement 
that I was incapable of movement or speech. My 
silence seemed to corroborate all the poor, deluded old 
man said, and in a moment like that, how was I to 
know what the demon of. jealousy might whisper to 
Horace Ballard? You were right from the first, 
Olive,” she said, sadly. “Horace loves me with a 
deathless love. 

“So it was that I decided to keep silent, though they 
accused me of the crime, until he came and made all 
clear. His absence perplexed me sorely, for I knew 
he was not one to shift his guilt upon another. But 
after I had had time to allow my better judgment to 
predominate, I felt assured that Horace Ballard had 
not succumbed to temptation, if indeed he had been 
tempted at all, for he is greater than I, and I have had 
the strength to govern myself in time of such trials. 

“Later, at the inquest, I knew it would be useless 
to profess my innocence, for I read in the faces of all 
a firm belief in my guilt. Besides, Horace would the 
sooner return and explain his absence if I were thus 
accused. My faith in him is firm, Olive,” she con- 
cluded, proudly. 

“But the note you wrote Mr. Ballard, asking him 
to meet you, Ulrica?” I said still in doubt, why she 
had desired such a meeting. 

“I wrote no note,” she said in surprise, “but re- 
ceived one from Horace. It was he I expected to 
meet at the bridge, else I should hardly have gone.” 


280 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


“Ulrica, I can guess who is the guilty one,’’ I said, 
“cannot you?” 

“I have not the least idea who could wish for his 
death,” she answered. • 

She was unaccountably stupid in some things. 1 
whispered a name to her. “Oh, Olive,” she cried, 
“we must remember that it is always best to temper 
justice with mercy. If your surmise proves to be cor- 
rect, we must lend her a helping hand.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


“It matters not if mid the high wild hills 
Or where the husbandman his acre tills, 

If where mist-girded mountains kiss the sky, 

Or lowly homes in peaceful quiet lie ; 

The soul by heaven divinely called to sing 
Will feel the impulse of its hidden wing. 

And rising high above the hampering clod. 
Commune with Nature and with Nature’s God.” 

Mortimer C. Brown. 

Bitter self-condemnation was mingled with the song 
of thanksgiving in my heart. Aye, bitter indeed when 
I realized how easily I had believed in her guilt. But 
valuable was the lesson I learned thereby; that lesson 
of how deceptive are circumstances and even one’s own 
eyesight. Many occurrences that I had scarcely 
deemed worthy of notice came to my mind and pointed 
to the truth. Now that my wits were sharpened to the 
truth by my recent mistakes, I asked myself why Isabel 
Horner had been the only one in the house who had 
heard the old man’s death cry? Why had she clothed 
herself all in black, a thing 1 had never known her to 
do before ? Why had she been cognizant of the death 
of the old man before we had told it? Why had slie 
been so ready to name my sister murderess, when it 
might have been an accident, for all she was supposed 
to know? 

I must have been mad in taking no thought of these 
things before. I wondered more and more at my 


282 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


blindness, when I remembered the former attempts of 
Isabel Horner to sweep my sister from her path. I 
waited for no trains, but was driven post haste to the 
gates of Mrs. Ballard’s residence. With heavy heart 
and bowed head I had passed through those gates 
but one day since. Now as I sped swiftly over the 
graveled driveway in my light-heartedness, these 
words seemed set to sweetest music, keeping time with 
my footsteps, “She is free, she is free, she is free.” 
I laughed aloud for very gladness that it was so. Pres- 
ently I slowed my steps in order to arouse no sus- 
picion as to the motive of my unexpected return, for I 
intended to become a self-constituted detective. The 
eyes of love should ferret out a truth which the keen 
eyes of the apostles of the law had failed to do. 

Mrs. Ballard spied me as I attempted to walk leis- 
urely up the wide stone steps, and met me with open 
arms. Captain Woodson, who had run up from the 
city to cheer her during this trying time, came close 
behind her. 

Observing my radiant face she exclaimed, “You 
are the bearer of good tidings. Tell us at once.” 

“They are both innocent,” I exclaimed, crying and 
laughing by turns, in my joy, giving a hand to each. 

"The proofs, the proofs,” she cried breathlesslv. 

“I shall have them soon,” I answered, moving to- 
ward the stairs in my eagerness to begin my search. 

At that moment I looked up and beheld Isabel Hor- 
ner midway on the stairs. Evidently she had heard 
my words, for there Avas a look of deadly fear stamped 
on her white face, and she was clutching the bannister 
for support. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


283 


I called attention to this fact by saying, “How 
alarmed yon appear to be, Miss Horner. I should 
think you would be greatly relieved in learning that 
Horace Ballard, at least, is innocent of the crime.” 

I threw prudence to the winds, now that she had 
heard me declare them innocent, and I was a relent- 
less foe. 

Recovering her composure with an effort, and smil- 
ing bravely, she said, “Indeed it was the sudden joy 
that so nearly overwhelmed me.” 

“Ah,” I exclaimed, looking her full in the eye. I 
knew that that little word conveyed volumes to this 
girl who stood shrinking before me. 

I passed on and gained my sister’s room, Mrs. Bal- 
lard following me. I unlocked the writing desk and 
with trembling fingers searched her papers. At last 
I was rewarded by finding that which I sought. 
Glancing hurriedly over the contents of the note I 
read : 

“Ulrica: Dear Friend — I am about to leave forever. 
I must see you alone once more. Do not tliink it 
strange that I request you to meet me to-night on the 
little bridge at ten o’clock. I shall wait until you 
come. Horace.” 

“Is this Horace’s writing?” I asked, Mrs. Ballard. 

“Certainly,” she answered in surprise. 

But I only smiled and asked, her to allow me to 
look through the dead man’s papers. 

“I wish to find a note my sister was supposed to 
have written in order to entice him to the bridge,” I 
explained. • 

“It is in my room,” she answered, leading the way. 


2S4 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


“It was found as they were preparing him for burial. 
He had placed it next his heart. Charles handed it 
to me later, and without examining it I laid it on my 
desk.” 

There we found it. At another time I should have 
sworn that my sister’s was the hand that penned those 
lines. Laying the two notes side by side I examined 
them closely, discovering that both were written on 
the same style of paper. Ah, how deeply laid was the 
plot, which had cost so dear to many of us. I pro- 
ceeded to explain my suspicions, which were now cer- 
tainties, to the wondering woman beside me. 

“It is quite clear to me, Mrs. Ballard,” I concluded, 
“that the same hand has penned them both. Evi- 
dently this person relied upon getting the one pur- 
ported to be written by Horace, after it had served its 
intended purpose ; while the other would be discov- 
ered and add another link to the chain which was to 
draw my sister to her ruin.” 

“Oh, how came you to think of all these things?” 
cried Mrs. Ballard, shudderingly. “I saw Isabel leav- 
ing your sister’s room, looking much disturbed, this 
very morning.” 

“Yes, it would show a flaw in the evidence against 
my sister, if this note was found, begging her to come 
to the bridge at the same hour she had desired the 
presence of the intended victim,” I said. 

“Oh, it is all so horrible,” exclaimed the good 
woman, bursting into tears. 

“Come,” I said, hastily, “we have other places to 
search. We "must find where this notepaper came 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


285 


from, and I believe it useless to search either Horace’s 
or my sister’s rooms.” 

T half dragged her to Isabel Horner’s door, and to- 
gether we entered and soon found several sheets of 
notepaper, the exact counterpart of the ones I held 
in my hands. But later I also found in my sister’s 
room a quantity of the same sort of paper, from which 
this girl must have filched her supply, foreseeing that 
this emergency might arise. It could then more read- 
ily be proven that my sister had penned the lines to 
the old man ; but not deeming it possible that she 
herself might be suspected, she had not taken the 
precaution to destroy these tale bearers. 

Suddenly bethinking me that this girl must have 
practiced considerably in order to so perfectly simu- 
late the chirography of my sister and Horace Ballard, 
I ran to the grate and pushed aside the screen, but 
was unrewarded by finding any proof of those at- 
tempts, though there were charred remains which 
proved that paper had been recently burned there. By 
the merest chance I perceived one corner of a sheet of 
writing paper protruding from under the commode, 
and picking it up, I triumphantly waved it before Mrs. 
Ballard’s eyes. Upon it were written the words : 
“Dear William: 

“Will you be at the bri ” 

Here it was discontinued, evidently not coming up 
to the required mark in simulating the supposed au- 
thor’s chirography. 

“How this girl has schemed,” I thought, shudder- 
ingly. She must have known that my sister was to 
be absent during that day and so was unlikely to meet 


286 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


either Horace or his father until the time arrived for 
the accomplishment of that deed. 

Perhaps she had also intended to bring about my 
sister’s death if the opportunity presented itself ; if 
not, the present alternative would serve her purpose 
and Horace Ballard would look with horror upon the 
supposed murderess. He might then turn to herself, 
with the munificent fortune that would then be his. 
Oh, she had schemed, but there were flaws. I placed 
the partly written note where I had found it. 

With great determination, Mrs. Ballard locked the 
door of the room, and took away the key. Still I had 
another spot to search. Followed by the all too will- 
ing Mrs. Ballard, who was joined by Captain Wood- 
son, when we reached the hall below, I led the way 
to the scene of the murder. With sharpened eyes I 
searched at the base of that old forest tree and found 
what I sought — a woman’s footprints plainly indented 
in the soft earth, sufficiently plain to show that rub- 
bers had been worn. 

I pointed to them exultingly and cried, “We shall 
have occasion to fit another piece of footgear into 
a track soon.” 

Hastily we followed those footprints. They led us 
through the woodland, almost to the very door of the 
side entrance, and then seemed to pause at a tail 
laburnum bush. Searching closer we found that the 
rubbers had been discarded, there being five footprints 
without them leading to the door. Returning to the 
bush, we discovered the rubbers which had been im- 
perfectly hidden beneath its foliage. For a moment 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


287 


I was staggered as I recognized them. They were 
my sister’s. 

With devilish malignancy this demon had filched 
them from her room, during or after the storm, worn 
them, and placed them there, that they might be found 
and the web be more tightly woven about her. Or 
she may have intended placing them in my sister's 
room, but hearing us so close behind her that night 
had removed them in haste and entered that door just 
before we arrived. Oh, yes, this girl had indeed 
schemed, but there were flaws. 

Captain Woodson informed the detective who was 
watching the premises, of our discoveries. “He shall 
blush for shame,” said Mrs. Ballard, “for his stu- 
pidity.” 

No thrill of pity stirred my heart for the girl whose 
mad love had brought her to commit this horrible 
crime. But she had not counted upon Horace’s act 
of shifting the accusation upon himself. That, indeed, 
had been no part of her plans. Neither had she sus- 
pected that his father had already disinherited him, 
though she must have been a witness to that scene in 
the garden the night before. Hence her haste in ter- 
minating the afifair which had been formulating in 
her brain. We repaired immediately to her room, and 
found that the door had been forced open, and the 
contents were much disarranged. Nannie entered, 
looking wonderingly at our excited faces, and told us 
that Miss Horner had departed hurriedly, saying that 
she would send for her trunks later. 

“She seemed to be much excited,” continued the 
girl, “and did not take time to change her house 


288 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


dress, but took a small hand satchel and hurried 
away.” 

“Did she walk?” inquired the detective. 

“No. James had been exercising the horses and i 
heard her ask leave to ride one of them to the village,” 
she answered. “He offered to saddle it for her, but 
she would not wait.” 

Sufficient had been discovered to convince anv sane 
person that both those notes had been penned by the 
fair occupant of that room ; and for what purpose 
’iiy oi could understand. While a horse was made 
ready to go in pursuit of the fugitive we hastily pro- 
:ured a pair of her dainty boots, and found as wo 
vere already convinced, that they exactly fitted those 
tracks nearest the sid^ e^^trance. 

5|< 5)5 * 5k 5!= 

Isabel Horner was never brought to justice accord- 
ing to the world’s view of such matters. But I knew 
that her punishment was greater than death, for she 
was liopeless of ever winning the man she so madly 
loved. She had lost all opportunity of gaining that 
magnificent fortune ; was a fugitive who could know 
no rest or peace while life 'lasted. After the proofs 
of her guilt were laid before the local authorities, my 
sister was released from her prison cell, and returned 
safely to the palatial home, which was now all our 
own. 

To add to my joy, on arising the third morning 
after her release, I found on the floor of my room 
a letter from Horace. Evidently it had been slipped 
beneath the door during the night. With trembling 
hands I unfolded it and read : 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


289 


“Olive: Dear Friend — 1 know all that has trans- 
pired since that night of horror when my poor father 
came to his death. I say that night of horror, for I 
think it must ever remain in my memory as such, also 
because of the added horror of the mistake I made 
in doubting your sister. Had I not already been half 
crazed by grievous disappointment and doubt of her 
integrity, which had been seething like madness in my 
brain during the previous twenty-four hours, I am 
quite certain I should have held her guiltless, though 
1 saw her commit the crime, as I believed. 

Pity for my father could not overreach my love 
and fear for her. So unreasoning was this fear that 
in my madness I sought to save her from the justice 
which the land metes out to the taker of human life. 
Tf dee was the only way, for I could not stand by 
my father’s body and swear that I was his slayer. 
Though it shames me even to think of it, yet I will 
lay bare to you the whole of my miserable suspicions. 

When I turned to leave that fatal spot, I saw you, 
and I believed you were an accessory to the crime. I 
knew that my father’s threat to disinherit me and 
name Ulrica as heir to his wealth had been carried 
out, for he informed me that such was the fact, as he 
returned from the village that day. And I believed in 
that terrible moment when I saw you standing so still 
and making no protest, that you and she were cogni- 
zant that the will had been drawn up that very day. 
Oh, Olive, believe me, I was not myself, else these 
doubts had never risen up against you. The mad 
demon of jealousy had entered and taken complete 
possession of heart and brain, causing me to forget 


290 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


my manhC'^yd and all that higher and hettcr life for 
which I have been striving so long. 

At moment 1 saw Ulrica meet my father and my 
jealous fears seemed consummated, a wild desire to 
rake his life came to me. I was still struggling against 
this desire, when another saved me from myself. 
When I thought of Ulrica as my u'^'-^r’s wife I was 
goaded to such fury that I felt I prevent it at 

all hazards. So 1 must hold myself a murderer to 
my dying day, though I have never taken conscious 
life knowingly. 

I do not know, Olive, when I shall come back to 
you. I feel that I owe a debt to the one who saved 
me from committing that deed ; and I have a work to 
perform connected with that one, which none other 
can do. It is a work of love and mercy. I will leave 
you to guess what it is. 

I know that Ulrica will use that great wealth to the 
best possible advantage and so I am quite content. 

I will say, in conclusion, dear Olive, 1 know that 
she will yet be mine, and I can wait. When the time 
arrives that you can call me brother, write, and I will 
come home. 

For a time I must keep my whereabouts a secret, on 
account of the task before me, but a trusted friend in 
the city will forward any communication to me. 

Yours in faith and love, 

Horace.’’ 

Then came his friend’s address. There was also in- 
closed a loving letter for Mrs. Ballard and the chil- 
dren. I read and reread his letter many times and 


CLIMBING TFIE HEIGHTS. 


291 


then answered it, though I knew it was his desire not 
to communicate regularly with us, on account of that 
task he had set himself to accomplish. 

And I guessed that it was to find that poor, lost 
girl and save her from utter destruction. Later I 
found that my surmises were correct. However, I, in 
my selfishness, implored Horace Ballard to return 
to us. I longed with a great longing for the sight of 
his bonny face, for the sound of his cheering, helpful 
voice. Yes, in order to gratify my own selfish wishes 
I counseled him to neglect that deed of love and com- 
passion. 

Hastening to show his letter to my sister, I asked 
her to lend her pleadings to mine for his return. 

A great flash of admi'-ation lighted up her face, as 
she perused those lines, antil it was fairly radiant. 

“What,"’ she exclaimed, “counsel the man to neglect 
a duty so urgent, just for the simple reason that we 
desire his presence? 

“Oh, Olive, dear, when will you learn to think of 
others first?” 

“But, Ulrica,” I protested, “he must be very un- 
happy away from his childhood’s home, and from all 
his friends. Most of all, parted from you?” 

“Horace Ballard will be happy no matter where his 
stopping place,” she answered. “His is no weak na- 
ture to be unduly affected by his environments.” 

Nevertheless I dispatched my letter, but an answer 
was long in coming. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


“Roll on, O slow wheeled years, and bring the day 
When men shall gather wealth to give away. 

And spring to help when tempted nature falls. 

As when a builder drops from city walls; 

When to do good alone men shall be bold 
And seek out suffering as they seek for gold ; 

When Christian women shall not wipe their feet. 
Upon their fallen sisteis in the street. 

And calumny shall be a crime unknown 

And each shall make his neighbor’s wrong his own, 

Begone, O hate, and wrong and war, begone ! 

Roll on this way, O Golden Age, roll on ; 

When men and angels face to face shall talk, 

And earth and heaven arm in arm shall walk ; 

When love shall reign and over sea and shore 
The peace of God shall rest forevermore.” 

Mrs. Ballard was to give possession in six months. 
At the expiration of that time her marriage with 
Captain Woodson was to take place and they take up 
their residence in the city. At first I doubted if my 
sister would touch a single penny of that immense 
fortune ; but I was in error, as usual, for as soon as 
it was practicable she went to the city and ferreted 
out a host of poor carpenters (not the wealthy con- 
tractors), and put them to work building small, home- 
like cottages in beautiful sequestered nooks, about the 
place. t 

Those who had never known the delights of a com- 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 293 


fortable home were in due time domiciled within these 
nest-like cottages. Surrounding each was ample 
space for flower and vegetable gardens. 

During those days of preparation, my sister flit- 
tered from spot to spot, pencil and paper in hand, mak- 
ing calculations, advising and sympathizing with each 
and every one. Oh, but there was rejoicing when those 
poor families changed their bleak quarters for those 
pretty homes. With nice precision my sister calcu- 
lated that these cottages could be let for the same 
amount that had been paid for the rooms in the manor 
house. And after living wages were paid to the labor- 
ers, by careful and intelligent farming, there would be 
a surplus fund derived from the products of the many 
beautiful acres that would pay the expenses of the 
hospital which she intended to fit up in the old manor 
house, also the home for the aged and the little chil- 
dren which she was to establish in the home we 
now occupied. 

Mrs. Ballard was aghast when my sister informed 
her of this last scheme. ‘‘And where will you live, 
pray?" she exclaimed. 

“Ah, Mrs. Ballard, I shall have the loveliest home 
of all," she answered, smiling. “Listen while I de- 
scribe it and you will find that I have reserved the 
best for myself, as is the nature of mankind, you 
know.” 

“The floor of my house,” she began, “will be a 
very expensive one, covering many, many acres. Soft, 
velvety emerald tinted carpets, besprinkled with many- 
hued blossoms, shall be it’s covering. The arches of 
my roof shall be loftier than hand of man ever builded. 


294 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


The fingeis of an unseen artist shall ever be busv deco- 
rating my ceiling lest I tire of gazing upon the same 
scene, that artist shall be forever shifting and chang- 
ing form and color. At one time a bright blue, at an- 
other this blue shall be interspersed with fleecy-white 
clouds ; at still another, a sunrise scene with rosy 
clouds which turn to gold as if by magic; and yet 
another, a glory of purple and scarlet, and the deeper 
gold of sunset, then again, a swift, scurrving of dark 
cloud pierced by the fiery dart of a lightning shaft. 

“By day my house shall be lighted by an electric orb 
whose powerful rays encompass half the globe. By 
night there shall be lesser lights, which also swing 
from' my ceiling. In my house shall be many beauti- 
ful pictures of lofty mist-capped mountains, of little 
glinting streams, grand old forest trees, festooned 
with clinging vine and creeper ; of cool, shady dells, of 
little sun-kissed hills. Time shall ever be busy chang- 
ing these pictures from emerald to scarlet and gold, 
and then to gray. My house shall be pervaded by the 
breath of countless blossoms. The four winds shall 
blow unrestricted through my ever-open windows, tell- 
ing tales of far-off lands through the voices of mv 
numerous aolian harp, which will have been set to 
music by the fingers of these self-same winds. 

"A grand orchestra, composed of sweet-throated 
song-birds, murmuring waters, chirping insects, and 
the thunders roar shall ever be dispensing music which 
echoes and re-echoes through my halls. Was ever 
home more beautiful, Dorothy?” she concluded ab- 
ruptly, as she noted the child whose eyes had grown 
round with admiration and wonder. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


295 


“Oh, Mamma,” she exclaimed breathlessly, “when 
will it be ready for us ?” 

“It is ready now, my sweet,” she answered. 

And the little one, glancing around and understand- 
ing, cried, “Oh, 1 shall never want to live in a real 
house again. I didn’t know before hew lOvely all 
these things are.” And there was a new light on the 
child’s face. 

The old manor house was at once supplied with all 
necessary conveniences for the ill. 

A beautiful flower garden was laid out, where had 
been only bare and unlovely ground. Not long was it 
ere the spacious rooms were occupied by many pitiful 
sights of human suffering. My sister ferreted out a 
poor, struggling young physician, who was fully com- 
petent, and put him in charge of the institution. He 
brought his old mother, his wife and children from 
the crowded city to that “garden of Eden,” as the 
young wife termed the ideal spot on which stood the 
cottage they occupied. 

My sister had thought for all ; she forgot nothing, 
however trivial ; hers was indeed one of those rare 
minds which though broad enough to encompass the 
very universe itself, yet had the discrimination which 
enabled it to go into the most minute details. Neither 
did these details worry and fret her, as they generally 
do the broadminded. 

Among the nurses were two poor fallen girls whom 
she had found in the city : how T could guess by a 
later incident. And these poor girls gladly and thank- 
fully accepted the chance to retrieve the past by se- 
vere and arduous service. 


296 


CLIM21NG THE HEIGHTS. 


But my sister did not dispense her wealth indis- 
criminately, for when I once reminded her that that 
fortune was not rightfully hers, but belonged to Hor- 
ace, she answered me, “It is neither Horace’s nor mine, 
Olive, it is but placed in my hands to manage to the 
best possible advantage, for those who need it. Had 
it fallen to Horace he would also have used it as I 
am now doing.” 

During all these months no tidings of him reached 
us. Mrs. Ballard and the little girls, together with 
myself,, had wept gallons of tears over his loss. My 
sister seldom spoke of him, hut I knew that she longed 
for his return. 

Mrs. Ballard’s wedding day came at length, and the 
house was gaily decorated for the occasion. It was 
the last time that such scenes of merriment were to 
transpire within its walls. The numerous rooms were 
all occupied by the wedding guests and gay laughter 
and merry chatter was heard on all sides. At seven 
thirty P. M. on the ^wenty-first of December, our kind 
friend stood up in her shimmering pearl-gray robes 
and became Mrs. Woodson. 

The ceremony was succeeded by a grand ball which 
lasted into the wee small hours, and the following day 
they departed for their new home in the city, and we 
were left to our possessions. I say ours, for we ever 
shared our worldly goods equally as sisters should. 
Ere the dismantling of the stately mansion was begun, 
we went through the rooms together, and my heart 
thrilled to think that all these beautiful treasures of 
costly furniture, hangings and priceless paintings were 
indeed our own. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


297 


Turning to me, my sister said: ‘'Olive, it is very 
hard to give them all up, is it not?” 

“Don’t do it, dear,” I said, “Horace will be glad to 
find familiar surroundings when he returns.” 

So I, the avowed church-going, praying Christian, 
sought to tempt her to keep all that needless luxur>', 
thereby permitting the aged and the little helpless 
children who might find a home within its walls, to re- 
main unprotected from the cruelties of poverty. 

She was silent for many minutes, but when she 
spoke her voice was resolute. “Indeed, I should blush 
with shame did he find me so,” she answered. “My 
other house will be more wholesome.” But suddenlv 
turning upon me, she cried, “1 am tempted, Olive, 1 
am tempted.” 

“That desire to be surrounded with luxury, to deck 
myself with shining jewels, to walk in silk attire, to 
have servants come at my beck and call, is strong 
upon me at this moment. But I must subdue it. Oh, 
yes, I must subdue it,” she declared, turning to me. 
l)ut there was an irresolute look on her face. 

Little did I realize at that time, the intensity of the 
battle waging within her against that temptation. 

“Olive, I need help,” she cried, presently, actual 
alarm in her voice, “you must give it me.” 

And I again aided her by saying, “But, Ulrica, you 
have already done enough for strangers. You cannot 
aid them all. Keep this one place as it is now, and 
enjoy this wealth.’' 

When she answered me. her voice had lost its in- 
decision, and was clear and steady. 


298 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS 


“Olive,” she said, “I am disappointed in you. No 
one has done enough until he has done his best.” 

Once again my eyes sank before the accusing light 
in her own. 

“As you say,” she continued, “I cannot aid them 
all. Well I know that what I do for suffering hu- 
manity is but as a drop in the ocean. Still it is some- 
thing, and the example may incite others to aid the 
helpless, and thereby bring about more good. Re- 
member, “Let your light so shine before men that 
they may see your good works and glorify your 
Father which is in heaven.’ 

“And yet, Olive,” she concluded, smiling at me, “T 
shall follow your advice in one instance, for 1 intend 
to enjoy this wealth to its utmost limit. And truly she 
did, even with the worldly woes of others lying heavy 
at her heart, leading a life of toil and renunciation for 
their sakes, derive more sweetness from this life than 
any light nature ever dreamed of in his best moments. 
How mistaken is he who thinks the life of a butterfly 

happier than that of '' ’ for the latter 

finds hidden r^mui tne lorrrr^- never knew ex- 

isted. Ah, could we but fully realize that good does 
not end with an act of kindnes, but echoes and re- 
echoes in the hearts of those who come after us, and 
its influence is never lost, how many more of us there 
would be, eager to set those echoes ringing. 

Early the following morning my sister hastened to 
the city. Purchasers soon came and took away all 
the abides of luxury. The proceeds of the sale 
brought a sufficient sum to refurnish the whole house 
in a pretty home-like manner and also pay the greater 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


299 


part of the expense for the home during the followinc^ 
year. Truly the voice of the tempter she heeded not. 
When she had little she gave her mite. When she 
had much she gave of her abundance. Daily she went 
among the people she had gathered about her, in her 
cheap gowns, and worn boots, one of them and yet 
not one of them, for where she walked the children’s 
noisy clatter or wrangling ceased. Her very presence 
seemed to fill each little heart with reverential love 
and awe, for there was that about her strong yet gen- 
tle nature which demanded obedience and peace, 
though she neither chided nor commanded. Her lux- 
ury lay in the contented faces of those she had suc- 
cored. Her jewels were the shining eyes of those 
happy little ones. 

When all things were in order and we had in a man- 
ner settled down to a daily routine of life, the long- 
ing to hear the sound of Horace Ballard’s voice grew 
so great that I asl^ed her one day when I could write 
my brother to come home. 

“That I cannot tell you, Olive,” she answered. “I 
am going back to Richmond.” 

T gazed blankly at her and at length gasped out, 
“Why?” 

“To assure myself of a great happiness.” she said, 
looking away, a light of joy creeping into her eyes. 

I was silent, angry and despairing. I now felt that 
she had at last owned herself conquered by that love 
which she had sworn to overcome. 

“After all she is but a weak, loving woman,” I told 
myself. I had exalted her above common humanity 


300 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


and I was grievously disappointed at the turn affairs 
had taken. 

I watched her as she stood before me with that light 
in her eyes deepening, deepening to still greater joy, 
and my anger grew apace. “Then you may go alone," 
I said sullenly. 

“No, dear sister, you must share my happiness also. 
For it must bring about what will be, after all, the 
one supreme joy of this, my earthly existence. Yes, it 
shall bring it about,’’ she declared, with such a ring of 
resolution in her voice that I felt doubly assured that 
she had ceased to struggle against that infatuation 

Neither she nor I mentioned the prospective jour- 
ney for several days, and I began to hope that she had 
given it up and all would yet be as I so fondly hoped. 

But it was not so, and the first of April found us 
once more domiciled in my little cottage in Richmond. 
We had been there but a fortnight when she and the 
little one were standing at the gate one evening and I 
was quite near as usual. The habit of following my 
sister about grew upon me at time passed, as also did 
my fear of Mark Warren, That evening Dr. Asidey 
paused at our gate, lifted his hat to her and with his 
old-time fascinating smile said, so low I scarce could 
catch his words, ‘T knew I should find you some day.” 

A flush so slight it was scarcely perceptible mount- 
ed to her cheek and was gone in an instant, but a great 
light of joy lit up her face and I grew sick at heart. 
She invited him in. I was not surprised. I assured 
myself in bitterness of spirit that nothing she ever 
did again would surprise me. Well I knew that no 
protestations of mine could turn her from her course. 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


301 


Dr. Ashley’s call was a lengthy one; and dav after 
day found him in our parlor, a welcome visitor. His 
exertions to please extended even to Dorothy, whom 
he had only tolerated during those other days when 
he had come a-wooing. Scarcely could I treat him 
with common civility, so sore was my heart at this 
disappointing change in my sister. 

Each time he would leave her, there was such a 
light on her face that 1 could only watch her in won- 
dering dismay. I would look a little way into the fu- 
ture and see how. this narrow souled man would 
squander the fortune that rightfully belonged to that 
most noble of men. Horace Ballard would watch and 
wait in vain for that letter that would never come, 
that letter naming him brother. I suffered tortures 
during those days when Dr. Ashley was ever linger- 
ing at my sister’s side. More tender grew his voice 
each day. Deeper grew the love light in his hand- 
some eyes, as they met her own, which never sank be- 
neath his glance as of yore. I used sometimes to won- 
der why her cheek never flushed at his approach as 
was its wont in those other times. But then perhaps 
she is so sure of her happiness, I would tell myself, 
“that she had learned to think of it with more calm- 
ness.” 

The story of her change of fortune had reached 
Richmond long before we had. Many called upon us 
who had never deigned to recognize us before. Our 
former supposed disgrace was conveniently forgotten. 

As the spring advanced, accompanied by Dr. Ash- 
ley, we made excursions to the self-same spots we had 
visited in those other days, hut my sister never jper- 
mitted Dr. Ashley even to take her hand in helpingdier 


302 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


in or out of the carriage, which she had purchased to 
carry the sick from place to place. 

One evening I saw her looking thoughtfully at my 
downcast face. Coming to me with a loving caress 
she asked wonderingly, “Olive, why are you so sad?” 

But I made her no answer. 

“Surely, dear,” she then said, “you will share with 
me this one great joy of my life, for I feel almost as- 
sured of it at last. I know you are really disap- 
jiointed that I do not call Horace home, but you must 
l)c pai^ient.” 

But still I made her no answer. What use for me 
to tell her that I had no sympathy for her love. What 
seemed to me worse than all was that she never strug- 
gled against it, but had completely surrendered and 
while admitting by each act that she was defeated 
grew more content and deeply joyous each day. In 
very bitterness of spirit I assured myself that she had 
conceived the wild idea of bringing about this man’s re- 
formation, that instead of sinking to his level it should 
be her life's work to raise him ’to hers. “What mad- 
ness,” I would oft times say tojnijjself. . “Why it were 
as impossible a task as it' would be to roll the globe on 
which we dwell, straight through the pearly gates.” 

So it was that I grew more bitter toward her each 
day. Three long months, were passed in this way and 
still no word came from Horace. Dr. Ashley was now 
very anxious to take my sister into public places. He 
was proud that his friends, no — he had few friends, — 
his acquaintances, should see him carry off the rich 
prize which she had now become. 

One beautiful Sabbath morning we started for a 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


iOb 


drive, accompanied by Dr. Ashley. When about three 
l)locks from our cottage we heard the shouts of sev- 
eral small boys wbo were running in front of a wo- 
man, seeking to retard her progress. She was gesticu- 
lating wildly, cursing and calling them horribe names. 
As we came nearer I noticed that she was a verv small 
woman and there was something familiar in her ap- 
pearance. Her silken gown was much the worse for 
wear, was dusty and soiled with earth stains. Despite 
the stupid, inert expression, which intoxication alone 
can lend the countenance, I recognized Alice Ashley. 
Dr. Ashley also recognized her, and giving whip to the 
horses, would have passed her by quickly, but my sis- 
ter, who was occupying the seat by his side, placed 
lier hands firmly on the ribbons, bringing the carriage 
to a standstill. Ere I divined her purpose, she sprang 
out and went swiftly to where that poor, fallen crea- 
ture stood, and cried, “Alice, dear Alice, is it really 
you? Oh, I am so glad to find you!” 

There were many whom we knew standing on their 
door steps, of at their gates, observing this scene witli 
shocked faces as my sister implored that besotted crea- 
ture to take her hand in friendship. Alice Ashley 
looked at her a moment and then at him, whose proud, 
happy wife she had been before Ulrica had come be- 
tween them and drew back angrily. Fearing lest she 
make a terrible scene, I cried, “Ulrica, come away at 
once !” 

Never did I feel one-half so small as when she 
turned her accusing eyes upon me and said, “Oli, 
Olive, and you are a Christian woman.” 

I went to her side, proud, oh how proud to follow 


304 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


ill her footsteps, and added my entreaties to hers. Evi- 
dently the drunken stupor had gained control over 
Alice Ashley, for she fell against my sister, soiling her 
white robes with the earth stains from her own tat- 
tered garments. We half led, half dragged her and- 
placed her in the carriage. 

Dorothy cried when she saw how sick poor butteiily 
appeared. Oh, truly, poor butterfly, with soiled and 
broken wings. 

“I must return home. Dr. Ashley,” said my sister 
quietly. 

“You are not taking her there, are you?” he asked 
scornfully. 

“Yes,” she answered. 

JHe immediately took his departure when we reached 
our gate. Lest he soil his white purity, this man 
would not even assist us to the house with our almost 
inanimate burden. However, we soon had her safely 
in my sister's own bed, and she fell into a drunken 
slumber, which lasted many hours. My sister watch- 
ed over her all that time, and together we removed the 
soiled garments from the poor, wasted frame and re- 
placed them with my sister’s spotless ones. We soon 
had the pretty light hair brushed from the white brow 
and she appeared almost as she had in those other 
days. 

When she woke and recognized her surroundings 
slie sprang up and frantically tore into shreds the gar- 
ments upon her. She reviled my sister in most terrible, 
most shocking language. .She heaped reproaches upon 
her, which none but one with Christlike patience could 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


305 


have borne. My sister’s face was wet with tears, as 
she sought to quiet her. 

“Oh, Alice, do not leave me, but only listen,” she 
pleaded, so earnestly that the maddened woman’s pas- 
sion subsided somewhat and she fell back upon the 
bed, too dizzy from her recent debauch to stand alone. 
Then my sister kneeled there beside and told her all, 
all. She succeeded in impressing the whole truth 
upon the woman’s mind. She made her understand 
how great indeed had been that love which had 
brought about such deplorable results. In Alice Ash- 
ley’s eyes a strange, new light was creeping, as my 
sister said in pleading tones, “Alice, dear, I have so 
longed to see you all these years, to help, to comfort 
you. Take my hand in friendship once more, I im- 
plore you.” 

With a rush of tears, Alice Ashley reached out both 
hands and cried, “Ulrica, it is I who am not worthy 
to touch your hand. I have been so weak and you so 
strong.” 

It was thus that peace was established between 
them. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

“change.” 

“Why this repining, 

Hope’s star is shining 

To light me to the other shore. 

My feet are shod, 

With faith in God, 

Life’s thorns can pierce them never more.” 

Dr. Ashley did not make his appearance on the fol- 
lowing day, but the day after found him again at my 
sister’s side. She received him as usual, and Alice’s 
name was mentioned by neither. What cared this sel- 
fish, narrow souled man, whether she lived or died. He 
had brought her low, had squandered her fortune, and 
he was done with her. Just as I believed he would serve 
my sister, should the opportunity present itself, and 
that opportunity seemed very imminent. I soon left 
them together and joined Alice, who was sitting just 
outside the open window, beneath a shade tree. Her 
quiet face depicted no emotion save scorn, as we heard 
Dr. Ashley’ voice, which had grown wonderfully ten- 
der, as he said in pleading tones, 

“Ulrica, dear Ulrica, I can stand this suspense no 
longer. When will you be my wife?” 

She moved away a little as he sought to take her 
hands. We could see her plainly through the open 
window, as she stood in silence, while such a light of 
joy lit up her face, such joy as I had never beheld on 
countenance before. He read her even as had I, and 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


307 


again sought to take her hands. My heart cried out 
for Horace Ballard, despairingly in that moment, when 
I was about to see my worst fears consummated. Still 
she was silent, while that light gathered and grew in 
her eyes, with a radiance almost divine. 

“Oh, she loves him so dearly,” I thought bitterly, 
and hid my face in my hands. ‘T will not witness this 
thing,” I inwardly cried. 

Dr. Ashley’s voice at length broke the silence, a tri- 
umphant ring in his tones as he went yet nearer her. 
”Say that you will be my wife, very soon, Ulrica.” 

When I looked up she had stepped nearer the win- 
dow in order to avoid his touch. Her tones were al- 
so triumphant as she answered, “Nay, Dr. Ashley, 
it can never be.” 

Did I hear aright or was I dreaming? Dr. Ashley’s 
face gradually assumed an ashy whiteness, even as 
with fear, for he felt that she, and her princely for- 
tune. were surely slipping through his fingers. 

“You cannot mean it, you are but testing my love 
for you,” he cried, a little relief creeping into his 
voice. 

“I repeat that it can never be,” she said quietly. 

He realized then by her firm tones and steady glance 
that no jesting was intended. 

“Then why have you led me to hope in this man- 
ner?” he cried, fierce anger in his tones. 

“I did not intend to cause you pain,” she answered. 
“I do not believe that one thrill of honest love for me 
has never stirred your heart. I but sought your pres- 
ence in order to assure myself that my love for you 
was dead, quite dead. I Was but fully convinced that 


308 


CLIMBING THP: HEIGHTS 


it was so when the word wife, in connection with my- 
self, fell from your lips.” 

“Ah, I understand,” he cried,“you used me as a sort 
of subject, something to experiment upon.” 

Taking his hat he turned to leave, angry despair 
written in his face. 

“Stay,” she said, “if I can render you any assistance 
I shall—” 

“No,” he interrupted, as the last remnant of pride 
he possessed flared up grandly, “you would give me a 
small portion of your gold, even as you would the veri- 
est beggar, who crept to your door. No, a thousand 
times no!” 

“Do not leave me thus. Dr. Ashley,” she said, reach- 
ing out her hand imploringly. “See, I beg of you, to 
take my hand in friendship.” 

Something in the glance of her pitying, tear dimmed 
eyes impelled him to do so. 

“Oh, Dr. Ashley,” she said, “if you did but know 
the joy of living that higher and better life, you would 
be a changed man. Be my friend. Allow me — ” 

“Your sermons are lost upon me,” he interrupted, 
scofiingly, dropping, her hand. Again he turned to 
take his leave, when the immensity of his disappoint- 
ment rushed full upon him. So, returning to her side 
once more, he pleaded with her. His eloquence might 
have moved a heart of stone. But hers was no weak 
nature to swerve from the “way,” though it did cause 
temporary pain. 

“if you send me from you in this manner,” he cried, 
“I am ruined, and without hope.” 

Raising her hand and pointing upward, in pitying 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


309 


yet firm tones, she cried, “Nay, there is hope for all. 
Look up!’’ 

Without a word he turned and left her and we knew 
his face no more. 

In the silence that followed I again hid my face in 
my hands, the joy bells once more set to sweeetest mu- 
sic in my heart. O joy, joy, indeed, she had proven to 
be true and great. She was strong when I had 
thought her weak. I told myself then and there that 
never again would I doubt her, no matter what came 
to pass. And then, what could her refusal of Dr. Ash- 
ley imply save that she loved another. In that mo- 
ment I felt assured that my fond hope of calling Hor- 
ace Ballard brother would yet be realized. 

When I looked up I found Alice regarding me 
strangely. “You were surprised,” she said calmly. 
“I knew whit her answer would be before she gave 
it.” 

I entered the house and ran swiftly up the stairs in 
search of my sister. I found her at the door of that 
room which had been closed so long. 

“The last test must be applied,” she said, stepping 
lightly over the threshold with no sign of the terrible 
agony which had torn at her heart during the night 
she had last passed within its walls. Thick lay the 
dust on mantels, floor and window sills. She ran and 
opened wide the windows, admitting the pure air and 
blessed sunshine once more. Stooping she lifted from 
the floor a dried and withered blossom, that little 
flower whose very touch had thrilled her with such 
despair now lay in her hand, not more dead than was 
her love for its giver. 


310 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


She contemplated it silently for a few moments and 
said, “You see I have ruled my spirit, Olive, I have 
conquered.” 

“And now,” she resumed musingly, as if speaking 
to herself, “now that I am so entirely done with that 
part of my existence, now that that great obstacle has 
been overcome, surely my future will be more rest- 
ful. Oh, it will be good to rest, if for ever so short a 
time.” 

Some way the words smote upon my hearing with 
terrible significance. “How foolish I am,” I mentally 
exclaimed. “What can she mean save that all the bit- 
ter past is over and the future spent in peace and love 
will be the sweeter, because of that very bitterness.” 

“Now I may call my brother home, may I not, Ul- 
rica?” I asked. 

So sure was I that her answer would be yes, I stood 
smiling for very gladness and striving to read that 
answer in her face. But failing in that my suspense 
grew unbearable. I longed to hear that little word yes 
fall from her lips, as eagerly as would a waiting lover. 
Yet when the answer came it was “No.” The musical 
chimes of the joy bells in my heart ceased of a sudden. 

“Why ?” I at length gasped out. 

“Because I am unworthy of him, he is yet too far 
removed from such as I,” she answered calmly. 

As I was about to refute this statement she raised 
her hand to enjoin silence on my part, and then contin- 
ued, “Look you here, Olive, can you not realize that 
Horace Ballard is greater, far greater than I? Com- 
pare his clean and spotless life to my own, and you 
will understand?” 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


311 


I stared at her in speechless amazement. I would 
never admit that any life was cleaner or more spot- 
less than was hers. 

“But, Ulrica,” I expostulated, “you have overcome 
every temptation of your life, your motives have ever 
been as pure as the virgin snow.” 

“That may be, Olive,” she answered, “but you must 
admit that I have lacked that wisdom necessary to so 
order my life that I could find it possible to obey 
the Divine command — Avoid the appearance of 
evil. This wisdom Horace Ballard possesses to a much 
greater degree than I do. The two great mistakes in 
life which I have made debar me from accepting his 
love, for they prove that I am not his equal. I cannot, 
I dare not, offer this contaminated body, this scarred 
and broken heart to one like him.” 

“Broken, your heart is broken, Ulrica?” I ex- 
claimed in dismay, as I looked closer at her face, and 
for the first time perceived a new and strange shadow 
resting there. An indefinable dread seized upon me. 

“Yes, broken,” she reiterated calmly, “for when I 
tore away the last tendrils of that love which had 
wound itself about every fibre of my being, I realized 
that my heart was broken.” 

With an effort I roused myself from the horror 
which was creeping upon me, and calling my more 
practical self to my aid, said, “Then let Horace Bal- 
lard’s love heal your wound, Ulrica. You are making 
a mistake. If he is greater than you, then rest assured 
that he had not erred in placing his love upon you. He 
is willing and eager to take you as you are.” 

But she only smiled and said : “Never can two be 


312 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


blended into one, unless each possess those attributes 
of wisdom and purity to an equal degree. I repeat I 
am not Horace Ballard’s equal.” 

“Oh, Olive,” she cried, scornfully, regretfully, “too 
much of darkness and sin have been in my own self, 
else these temptations that have risen in my pathway 
had never been temptations. There was that in my 
own sinful nature from which sprang these dark and 
unholy desires. The gulf of death lies between that 
most noble man and myself. Nothing but death can 
purify me to the degree wherein I could feel justified 
in offering myself to him. 

“Listen, Olive,” she went on, coming nearer me, 
“listen while I tell you my belief ^nay my certainty) in 
regard to this mutual love of man and woman. So 
great a thing is it, that though one should attain to that 
high estate of godliness, still must he be ever incom- 
plete, ever reaching out after that other half of his 
being. Ever must he be drawn to earth life again and 
again, until that for which he seeks is found, is able to 
recognize him. Indeed it is, it must be, that two were 
one, when first plunged out, into separate life from 
the Godhead, and in the darkness and turmoil of 
earthly existence, they are torn asunder. So it is they 
wander up and down the earth with aching, craving, 
bleeding hearts which nothing but the blood from that 
other heart can heal ; nothing but that other heart can 
fill this aching void, or satisfy this deep craving. And 
for this we are ever searching and in our blindness we 
hearken to the desires of the flesh and so mistake pas- 
sion for love. And this mistake is bound to bring 
about disaster and pain, for all that pertains to flesh 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


313 


is painful. But when these two selves are once more 
united by the love which is of Divine origin no power 
in the universe can tear them asunder. So purified is 
that sort of love that it ceases to be of the earth earthy, 
and so it is, Olive,” she finally concluded, “that I can 
not accept Horace Ballard’s love,, because I am yet 
unworthy and so cannot respond to it ; and yet I seem 
to know that he is for me. I seem to hear this love 
knocking at the door of my heart, in tender, pleading 
tones, begging admittance, yet I have not the assur- 
ance to rise and do its bidding. Though I fain would, 
yet must I not, for when I come to him I must come 
pure and undefiled. I repeat that death alone can 
cleanse me.” 

A horrible fear fell upon me. 'Had her many trials 
in life unhinged her mind ? Had that battle been too 
fiercely fought during these four years? Had she, as 
well as that love, received her death wound? As I 
looked upon her face with that strange light still hov- 
ering upon it, I felt, I knew that she had been done to 
death. 

Again calling my more practical self to my aid, I 
said impatiently, “Ulrica, I do not pretend for a mo- 
ment to comprehend your meaning. I do so long to 
see you grasp and hold this good man’s love which is 
held out to you. You have never known any happi- 
ness of your very own.” 

“Oh, Olive,” she cried reproachfully, “do you not 
know that the great secret of true happiness is in lay- 
ing self aside and living for others ? This I have strug- 
gled all my life to do, and in a measure I feel that I 


314 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


have succeeded ; therefore I have seen much happi- 
ness." 

And again I stood abashed in her presence. Never- 
theless my decision to send for my brother grew firmer 
in my mind. I assured myself that I needed him. I 
was truly alarmed about my sister, for that change in 
her grew hourly more perceptible. 

That very day 1 worded a letter as follows : 

“Richmond, Va., 

July — , i8— 

"Horace, dear brother: — 

“Come home at once. Olive." 

My sister still went about busying herself as usual, 
but all enthusiasm seemed to have died within her. 
Peace, a great still peace, settled upon her. She seem- 
ed, as it were, to be one who was done with all things. 
Time and again I would assure myself that she could 
not resist Horace’s pleadings when he came. His was 
a more evenly balanced nature. He would point out 
to her wherein lay her mistake, that her wild ideas of 
unworthiness were far-fetched and unreal. She whose 
soul was whiter than the virgin snow. Had she not 
come to that lofty state that none may reach save those 
that have purified themselves of all sinful desires? 
She unworthy to mate with any one, even though it 
be this great and good man, whom I felt towered 
above any of his kind. It was absurd. 

“Oh, yes," I would tell myself, “the very strength of 
his love will draw her back to life and earthlv happi- 
ness, from which she seems gradually but surely drift- 
ing day by day.” 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


Sl5 


Almost a month passed and daily, hourly, momenta- 
rily I was expecting our little front gate to open and 
admit my brother. Oh, with what desperate longing I 
waited for the fulfillment of my hopes and plans. Alice 
was still with us and was to accompany us back to 
our California home and assist in the care and teaching 
of the children. She had ever loved little children and 
was rejoiced at the prospect of being among them in 
so helpful a capacity. 

My sister had occupied that chamber opening on to 
the balcony ever since throwing wide the door on that 
memorable day when she had refused Dr. Ashley. 

One morning, while the shadows were still hover- 
ing thick and dark in rooms and hallway I rapped 
upon her door, for she had bade me call her early. 
Waiting and receiving no response, I tried the latch, 
which yielded to my touch. My glance first rested 
upon her where she lay so still on her white bed. The 
reddening east lent a rosy flush to her face, beautify- ^ 
ing it beyond words to describe. Her dark curls 
strayed over the white lirow in rich glossy profusion. 
Such a light of indescribable peace lingered on that 
face that I stood and smilingly contemplated her. Sure- 
ly Gyenth in her lonely rose-curtained tower had not 
been one-half so lovely I thought proudly, gladly. Ah 
even yet I love to linger on the memory of that scene. 
But— 

Presently my glance left her face and rested upon 
the white arm hanging over the bedside. I saw some- 
thing drop to the floor, a little speck, and after a long 
interval, another. What horror was this that was 


316 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


creeping upon me? That was chilling my blood, that 
was stifling my very heart beats? 

Slowly my glance followed a little dark stream that 
trickled across the painted floor to my very feet. 
Mechanically spellbound, I stooped and dipped my 
hand in it. I was standing in a pool of blood. My 
skirts were all bedrabbled with it. 

With a smothered cry I ran to the bedside and 
placed my hand on my sister’s face. It was cold, 
with that icy coldness which none can mistake. 

My frantic screams rang through the house, as I 
smoothed her face over and over, that face which 
would light up with love for me never more. 

Dimly, as through a mist, I saw Alice rush in and 
take away the frightened weeping Dorothy who was 
just awakened. Through the horrible blackness of 
my despair the thought of Horace came to me. I 
needed him, indeed! Oh, why was he so long in 
coming? Even in that moment my wish for his 
presence was gratified, for I caught the sound of a 
familiar step, and looking up found him beside me. 
An unspeakable agony shone in his face one moment 
and then vanished, as he took all that was mortal 
of my sister in his arms, smoothed back the curls 
from the white brow, kissed it reverently, saying, 
“Yes, these things must be.” 

Laying her gently back on the pillow he turned 
to me, though his grief must have been a hundred 
fold my own, and said: “Your brother will com- 
fort you, Olive.” 

It was then that I fully realized that there was no 
hope. She was dead, quite dead. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

“waiting.” 

“Serene I fold my hands and wait, 

Nor care for wind, or tide or sea; 

I rave no more, 'gainst time or fate, 

For lo! my owm shall corfie to me. 

I stay my haste, I make delays, 

For what avails this eager pace? 

I stand amid the eternal ways 
And what is mine shall, know my face. 

What matter if I stand alone 
I w^ait with joy the coming years; 

My heart shall reap where it has sown, 

And gamer up its fruit of tears. 

The stars come nightly to the sky. 

The tidal waves unto the sea. 

Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high. 

Can keep my own away from me.” 

Eighteen years have come and gone since those 
words were spoken to me: “Your brother will com- 
fort you, Olive.” And he has comforted me indeed. 
Scarcely a day has passed since that I have not felt 
his loving handclasp and heard his words of helpful 
cheer. 

As I sit at my window today in our California 
home, I glance out into that garden of the gods, and 


318 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


see him wave his hand at me, as he passes, his hand- 
some face alight with brotherly love. I smile back 
at him and am content. 

Though this man’s love for all that has life seems 
unlimited, still I feel that he holds me a little dearer 
than any other, and the knowledge fills me with de- 
light. During these eighteen years his name has 
become a power in the community, where we live, 
and also far beyond. His voice is heard abroad in 
the land, advocating all that upholds and advances 
mankind; suppressing the evils which retard their 
progress. He has become a most eloquent orator, 
who has many calls to speak before large assem- 
blages, for the cause of the laboring classes. And 
never has he failed to bring the rich man and the 
poor- into closer sympathy and understanding ; break- 
ing down those lofty barriers of pride which stand 
between, bringing them so low, indeed, that each 
might reach over- and clasp hands, realizing that 
they belong to one and the same family ; that family 
which makes of all humanity one vast brotherhood. 
A score of ministers of the gospel must needs live 
as many lives of faithful preaching of the word in 
order to bring about the results that Horace Bal- 
lard has, and yet he is just in the prime of his glori- 
ous manhood. 

The text from which he teaches the word is ever 
taken from that sweetest commandment, “Love thy 
neighbor as thyself.” Never was there in the vine- 
yard a more faithful laborer. If ever temptation 
comes to him it quickly arid surely dies in the white 


Climbing the heights. 


319 


light which illuminates his soul from within. The 
purity of his life is something sublime. 

And that strange religion of his he still holds fast ; 
that religion which forbids all fear of the Creator, 
because its true disciples have naught to fear and 
all to love. Bub I cannot fully understand this. 
While I feel that I hiay be weighed down by preju- 
dice, by preconceived ideas. I have not the will power 
to throw them off. I fear to throw them off. 

Horace Ballard’s self imposed task of finding and 
saving that haughty and wicked girl who had taken 
his father’s life, had been accomplished, when he 
received the summons home. 

I pictured to myself how that proud creature had 
melted ’neath his kindly care for her future. How 
she had been reunited with the heartbroken parents 
and sorrowing sister, in a distant land, becoming a 
solace to them instead of a grievous burden. Aye, 
truly it was best that justice be tempered by mercy. 

During these eighteen years I have been in pain- 
ful doubt as to the salvation of my sister’s soul. Did 
she dare go before her maker, her hands red with her 
own blood? Had that garment of the soul, that 
garment which she chose to believe so impure, be- 
come an unbearable burden? Or was another’s 
hands stained with her precious blood? Scores of 
times these questions rise and remain unanswered 
in my mind. A few days before her death she had 
made her will and what was left of that immense 
fortune went where it rightfully belonged. She had 
also said to me, “Olive, let no false oride sway you. 


320 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


If anything happens to me, allow Horace to care 
for you and Dorothy.” 

I had promised that it should be so. Had she at 
that time conceived the idea of taking her life? Or 
had she felt the change that was coming upon her, 
for ever did she speak of death as but a change. 
Had she reached that state of knowledge and purity 
where the veil which hides eternity seemed but of 
gossimer thinness; and her eyes brighter from the 
light within pierced the folds which are so heavy 
to the common mind? This question also remains 
unanswered. Horace is firm in the belief that she 
did not lift a hand against her life. 

And I, I am much changed, for no one could live 
in the light of Horace Ballard’s presence and not be- 
come a better man or woman. Though, in a meas- 
ure, I am still impatient, I still love my comfort 
over well. As for instance, this very moment I hear 
the angry, fretful complaining of an old, old man 
who came to us in an almost dying condition a few 
days since. I know that I should go to him. He 
is but in the adjoining room, the one occupied by 
my sister while with us, for some inexplicable reason 
he insists upon remaining in that room. So I do 
not go to him, for I do so love to sit quietly here 
and watch the evening shadows creep over that low 
green mound out among the lilies, for we had laid 
all that was mortal of my sister there to sleep. 

I do so love to watch the red rays of the setting 
sun gleam on the white monuments, making it glow 
as with rosy life. And besides, I wish to read awhile. 
I wish to read these glowing accounts of a young 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


321 


girl who, coming into a fortune, has beggared her- 
self for charity’s sake. I read on, as follows, heed- 
less of the old man’s cries. 

“It was a great surprise to Miss Hayden’s host of 
friends, when she made this disposal of her lately 
inherited fortune. She is beautiful, talented and 
well educated, but has been from infancy trained to 
a life of usefulness, for her parents were parsimoni- 
ous to a degree. Now this beautiful young girl has 
gone on the stage, drawing houses, night after night, 
which an experienced- actress might envy. It is also 
known that she gives to worthy ones the greater 
part of her large salary. Many that come but for 
an evening’s amusement, go away resolved to lead 
a different life, incited thereto by this girl’s shining 
example. Her talent borders on genius. She has 
ennobled the profession, has raised it to a plain on 
which it never rested before. She ” 

Dorothy comes clattering in at this moment — 
Dorothy, who is now one of these strange, new 
women, who wears abbreviated skirts, rides a wheel 
and talks politics. She is very sweet and kind, but 
nothing like her mother. 

“Auntie,” she says, “can’t you do something to 
quiet that old man? I heard him calling for some 
one and went to him, but he threw the goblet which 
was left by the bedside at me, and told me to get 
from his sight.” 

Smiling she shakes the water from the front 
breadth of her skirt and goes on her way. 

But still I keep on with my reading until his voice 


322 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS* 


is raised to a higher pitch, and I grow more and more 
disturbed, as I hear his unreasonable railings. 

''“Here am I, a dying man, and not a soul to speak 
to. If I could I would leave this cursed place. Here 
are a dozen women sitting with folded hands, idling 
away time, while^I am dying without help. I was 
told that I would have care here, that in this one 
spot on the earth the Golden Age had set in. It 
is a lie, a cursed lie. I never was in such a miser- 
able hole. Do they think I will leave my money 
for them to squander? If so, they are fools. I’ll 
not die. I’ll get out of this yet and burn my money. 
It’s all in bank notes, every rap of it. All but that 
cursed farm and that she devil’s got that. I hate 
women, the vampires; I hate them!” 

And so, on and on, an endless tirade of abuse 
and oaths fall from the lips of this wicked old man. 
I decide that I will not trouble myself with him, when 
Horace looks in through the half open door and 
says, “Olive, dear, won’t you try to cjuiet and com- 
fort the poor old man? I have not a moment to 
spend with him, for little Mary is about gone and 
wishes to see me. I must make haste to the hos- 
pital.” 

I at once spring up to do his bidding. Not for 
worlds would I refuse a wish of his. I take my paper. 
What better can I do than read to this old man of 
this girl’s noble deeds. 

After abusing me as long as he desires, he per- 
mits me to read aloud to him, often interrupting me 
with *T don’t believe a word of it. It’s a lie, an 
infernal lie. There’s not a woman in the world that 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


323 


would do such a thing. If she did she'd be a fool, 
a damnable fool!" 

I rise from my chair in anger and am about to 
leave him when he asks more quietly, “Do you be- 
lieve that tale?" 

“Certainly," I answer. 

“Don't go away," he finally says in an imploring 
tone. 

I remain and find that he is subdued into silence. 
After a long interval he suddenly says, “Will you 
do something for me?" 

“If it is possible,’^ I answer. 

“Write that girl then, to come out here. I want 
to look upon such a one before I die. If she is so 
good she will not refuse the request of a dying old 
man." 

“I will ask Horace," I say doubtfully. 

“Pshaw! What has he to do with it?” he exclaims 
angrily. “Write now, I want to see it done. I can’t 
wait to die, and I must see that girl." 

He grows more angry and impatient, so I make 
haste to comply with his wishes. I look at my paper 
and find her address. “It must be ten days or pos- 
sibly a fortnight before she will arrive, if she comes 
at all," I tell him. I explain to him that likely she 
is under a contract for the season and will find it 
impossible to accede to my request. He will not 
heed me and bids me write in such pleading terms 
that as I dispatch my letter I also feel that there' 
is a chance of her coming to us. 

Oh, but the following days are weary ones! This 
old man who will not give his name grows hourly 


324 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


more irritable and impatient. And he will ofttime 
curse this Miss Hayden for her delay in coming. 
He will command me to leave him and then as often 
command my presence. My patience is indeed sore- 
ly tried. It is now ten days since that letter was dis- 
patched, and the old man is dozing, while I tintoe 
to the window and stand looking out. The door 
opens and admits some one, but thinking it is one 
of the nurses, I do not turn around. 

‘T am come, my friend,’’ I hear a voice say; a 
voice that stills my very heart-beats, and looking 
around I stand immovable, listening, listening, listen- 
ing! 

I see a young girl standing with her clear profile 
toward me, slightly leaning above the old man, whose 
eyes are now wide open, staring spellbound and he 
is also listening. As she lays her white hand gently, 
compassionately upon h\s forehead, he quivers from 
head to foot and springs up, crying out, “Who are 
you, girl?” 

“I am Esther Hayden, whom you wished to see,” 
she answers. 

With increased horror in his wildly staring eyes, 
he slowly creeps to the wall and cries, fearfully, “Go 
away, go away! You have come to haunt me in 
my dying moments. I murdered you long years ago.” 

His voice still sinking lower and lower, he goes 
on, “Don’t you remember how I crept through the 
window of your room in the dead of night? Don’t 
you remember how I offered to spare vour life, in 
spite of the scandals I read about you, if you would 
come back to me? Don’t you remember how you 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


325 


refused and looked with pitying eyes upon me ? How 
you dared not call for help, because I held that knife 
ready to plunge into your heart, for I was not to 
forego my revenge. But I wished even then to 
save you all the pain possible, so I cut the vein in 
your wrist and stood long and watched the life blood 
flow. Oh, I hugged myself with delight and scarce 
'"ould keep my hands out of it. Don’t you remem- 
ber how, when you were too weak to move, you even 
then looked upon me with pitying, forgiving eves. 
The same as you are now doing?’’ 

His voice again rises and the room rings with 
his terrified screams as he cries again and again, 
‘‘Take it away! Take it away!” 

Oh, heaven, whose death scene has he described ? 
And I still stand and listen, listen, listen, as this girl 
turns to me and says, “The poor man is delirious. 
I fear that I have frightened him.” 

Oh, heavens, this voice, this voice, like some long 
forgotten strain of music comes stealing down the 
corridors of eighteen long, dead years, thrilling me 
through and through with a strange joy which I 
cannot, I dare not attempt to define. Before my 
eyes gathers a mist through which I see this girl 
standing before me, in her fresh youthful beautv, 
white and pure as a tall, spotless lily. I catch the 
gleam of a halo of golden wavy hair, I see that she 
possesses the grace of a goddess. I see that her 
white gown is cheap and much worn; that her boots 
are dusty from traveling. 

I cling to the window casement for support, and 
as yet I have not dared to meet the glance of her 


326 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


eyes, which are so deeply, darkly blue. She sees 
something strange in my behavior and draws nearer, 
and as she comes I am filled with such a strange, 
wild, incomprehensible joy that I am still incapable 
of movement. The old man has ceased his cries 
and I look beyond this girl and see Horace, who 
has just entered the room, turn and also stand listen- 
ing, listening, as she speaks again, but her words 
are lost upon me. 

She turns to Horace and their eyes meet. For 
long they stand thus and then a light breaks over 
his face, a light even as of recognition, a light of 
such great joy that I am almost dazzled by its 
brightness. Oh, truly, it is that light which never 
yet shone on land or sea, that has come and settled 
in his deeply tender eyes, and in this girl’s face that 
light is reflected, yet there is no flutter of white 
eyelid, no flush mantles the white purity of cheek 
or brow. A sort of wondering gladness that is 
strange and sweet, is the only perceptible change 
on the lovely face. 

In this strange wild moment, even I seem to 
realize how great a thing is love when shorn of its 
earthly principles, when soul comes face to face with, 
and recognizes that other parts of its being. In 
another moment Horace is at my side. Placincr a 
chair for me, he leads me to it, and turning to this 
girl he says, his deep voice trembling, ‘T fear my 
sister is not quite well, Miss Hayden.” 

“Oh, what is so strange, Horace?” I cry, with 
an effort, saving myself from unconsciousness. 

“Olive, dear, try to collect yourself,” he says in 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


327 


tones that have grown firmer, but none the less joyous. 

I offer Miss Hayden my hand, ashamed of mv 
seeming lack of hospitality. But as I feel her touch 
I again cry, “Oh, Horace, what is so strange?” and 
my senses leave me. 


One month has passed since Esther Hayden came 
to us. By degrees I have learned to bear the in- 
describable joy which her presence brings me, also 
has that old man who still lingers waiting each day 
to die. Hour after hour she sits beside him, talking 
to him, pleading with him and he is a changed man. 
He has told her where his wealth is buried, enjoin- 
ing her to see that the rightful heir came into pos- 
session. “You will understand many things when 
1 am dead,” he has said time and again to her. He 
is indeed a changed man, but still maintains the 
strictest secrecy in regard to his name. 

Mrs. Woodson and Alice have run up from the 
city today. Alice, who after five years of patient 
toil among the sick and old and little children had 
become an honored and beloved wife. They are with 
us now, and as Esther' Hayden leaves the room in 
response to that old man’s cries, Mrs. Woodson says 
meditatively, “Some way. Miss Hayden does not 
seem an entire stranger.” 

Alice also speaks up at once. “She affects me in 
the same manner. Why the moment I heard her 
voice I ” 

She does not finish her sentence, but she and Mrs. 
Woodson exchange glances. 

I say nothing but only smile, as I think how this 


328 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS 


girl has crept into my heart and taken the place 
that had been vacant for eighteen long years. 

After my friends have taken their departure I turn 
my steps to the garden and pass slowly on toward 
that low, green mound, which I visit daily, near 
the sunset hour. I hear Horace’s voice and pause. 
He and Esther Hayden are standing near the glean- 
ing white marble speaking of my sister. Whatever 
his words, they are filling this girl’s eyes with a mo.st 
wonderful light of joyful comprehension. I move 
a little nearer, a strange, uncanny feeling at my heart. 
I see him smooth the curls from the white brow and 
kiss it with reverent lips, just as he had done that 
other one in long past years. I see him take her 
lovely face between his hands and look long into her 
beautiful eyes and say : “Esther, sweet, do you love 
me?’’ just as he had said to that other one in long, 
past years. 

“Why, Elorace, you know I do,” she answers in 
smiling surprise, just as that other one did in long 
past years. 

His voice thrills with an infinite joy as he cries. 
“Oh love, you have come to me. Time nor space, 
nor any power in the universe has kept you from 
me. 

A mad pain of jealousy suddenly seizes me. I 
rush across that low mound, and fall at their feet 
crying: “Oh Horace, brother, I cannot bear that 
you should be untrue to her” 

But he lifts me up and whispers in trembling tones, 
“Dear Olive, I am not untrue to her. Do you not 
understand ?” 


CLIMBING THE HEIGHTS. 


329 


And this girl puts her arms about me and hides 
her face on my shoulder and' in turn whispers, 
“Olive, if Horace is your brother, then I am your 
sister, for we are one.” 

At sound of her voice speaking my name, and feel- 
ing that loving familiar caress, I am filled with a 
wonderful peace and deep content. 

The veil is rent asunder and I come into the light, 
which is the truth and I know she is my sister. 


When that old man dies we find among his scanty 
effects a letter addressed to Dorothy. This letter 
is signed Mark Warren. My forgiving tears fall on 
his dead face, as I realize that through him we lost, 
yet through him we received our own again. 


THE END. 




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